I 


'■ ' ■ :;^i: ^ : ■ ■ 

■ • • ! . • > J < ’ J >. ■ 1 : V < . . > r > . .t • . f' ! ' ■ 


^ H ' |Vl/,r7 1^:::::.:^::::;;::!:: 

! ’MTjniW I J /, ./ ; 

, , # t 


.’ . ’ { • I ,• . ', • ' ■ 'i I ‘ if' ■- • . ■' . I , v ’^ ' ' ' . ’ ' i • ' ' ' 

.' f s - . I i ♦ • . y < 1 ■ V r; i .".i a .i-xi */ ! . ’ * ' , / ' * 'if ' ^iXeL . . * i ‘ i. . W > • ♦ < t i i 






lU'.-Air 


. , S t ' k 


llil! : liHilii 

-.t; ’M.Ji'-: 

“ f * i i t? ,- , ! i . . • - 

ji<?: = ili'M!;!;:;- 

. , » • i • ! ^ ; » * { 

. • : • . ’ • ; . - : 1 I I • 


library of congress 


nQ 02034 b 3 T 5 






















GoiyrightN® 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



Z‘ 'm ^ 


✓ # 


"• ■ • 
f ■ ^ r ^ ■ 


Hf » ,* ^T,-< 


»*l » 





.>• jy ' * ' * 



. L-' 




jTi .rx-' ; • 

>/„ • ' ^ • •••*< 

'.'•A . 




, •' 'X.' 


I . 


J< 


. " C \ ' 

.X "V- 



ji • 

' ' r . 


• <4 




•k^ 


,., - V if^-^s.|^ 
• -'• ;• v>_^. 

.1 i" • 'V. ■' M 
















f 




You see, Mr. Bonnycastic, we are not at all anxious to 
marry.” — Page 59. 








A MASTER 

OF THE 

INNER COURT 


By 

MARY POLK WINN 

Author **Law and the Letter” 
and Short Stories. 



BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO. 
885 Broadway New York City 


Copyright, 1915 
By 

MARY POLK WINN 



JAN 24 1916 

©J|,A41 8691 

[ . 

4 






A 




f / vr* 1 4 

^ *1 Lr*.'>4& -A A,' 


'S'. 


V 




1 




t , 

*1 

. 1 


» 


,■« 

/ 


I 


■> 



-o 



f . ' ' -.<' 

• ^ t 


'* i . 



A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


CHAPTER I 

The light from the leaping fire flickered over the 
beautiful room, where quiet brooded. On the 
hearth rug before the fire lay a child, asleep, and in 
a lounging chair close by, with her bit of needle- 
work even now slipping from her relaxing hand. 
Marjorie Wyngate sat, in drowsy yielding to the 
atmosphere of luxurious comfort and warmth about 
her. 

But hardly had she dropped asleep before she 
awoke with a strangled cry, and stared wildly 
about her, hardly recognizing in her terrors the fa- 
miliar objects about her. The fire, still leaping and 
falling in the great fireplace, cast its ever-varying 
yet accustomed glow over her, over her boy still 
sleeping on the floor at her feet. It was all as it 
had been a few moments before, and yet nothing 
seemed real about her but the terror of her vision 
that even yet was passing vividly before her wak- 
ing eyes. 

In her dream she had seen three figures, two men 
and a dog, upon a bridge which spanned a deep 
but narrow ravine. One of these men, their faces 
she could not see, stumbled and fell. As he strug- 
gled to his feet, the other man, the taller of the 

7 


8 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


two, pushed the man who had fallen from the 
bridge into the seething water below. This trag- 
edy, enacted before her eyes in a vision, Marjorie 
knew to be, in some way, of vital interest to her- 
self, and her horror was so great that she was un- 
able either to move or speak. Cold beads of perspi- 
ration stood upon her brow, her hands were 
clammy, she shivered as if from cold. Gradually, 
as her terror was allayed, she laughed at her fears, 
and bending down pressed her cheek close to that 
of her sleeping child. 

Rand was a beautiful boy. He lay as he had 
fallen asleep while at play, his head resting on his 
arm, showing a rosy cheek swept by dark curling 
lashes. His lips still held their babyish curve, and 
as he slept they parted in a smile. 

Attempting to forget her vision, Marjorie smiled 
back. Of what did he dream? Of some childish 
game? Rand always played with all his heart. 
To-morrow his father would return to them, and 
they would all be happy together again. Wyngate 
had been called away to a city in the East on some 
family business matters, and now that they had been 
satisfactory arranged he expected to return at once. 
Glancing round at her books and pictures, her hus- 
band’s desk, her boy’s treasures scattered about 
the room, Marjorie could hardly realize that she 
had spent five years in this happy home. There 
had been but one cloud. 

Her husband, Laurence Wyngate, was an only 
child. His father had died a short time before their 
marriage, but Marjorie had expected from his 
mother a daughter’s welcome. Mrs. Wyngate, 
however, never recognized her son’s marriage by so 
much as a line to either of them, and although 
Laurence had resented his mother’s silence, he 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


9 


seemed to be unable to discuss it. Realizing that 
from cause obscure to herself, her husband’s mother 
had not approved of his choice, Marjorie, too, had 
rarely alluded to her. 

With a sigh, she dismissed the subject from her 
mind, and after giving her boy his simple supper 
and his bedtime story, tucked him away for the 
night in his little white bed near her own. Then 
an almost unprecedented experience in her happy 
and tranquil life, through the long hours of the 
night she lay awake. Finally she rose, and walking 
to a window, drew back the curtain. 

Over the sleeping city the dawn lay brooding. 
From the sky the stars had faded, and a deep line 
of orange light in the East was paling into gold. 
In a house across the street she saw a servant turn- 
ing out the lights ; the hoofs of the horses in an ice- 
wagon struck sharply against the cobble stones of 
the frozen street. She could almost discern the 
bare trees and gray outline of the statuary in a 
little park where she often took Rand to play; she 
recalled with amusement a statute of Minerva 
which had been struck by a mammoth fire cracker 
at a patriotic celebration. Rand in a trembling 
voice had called out to a burly policeman: “Come 
quick, Mr. Officer! A skyrocket has hit Miss Mi- 
nerva!” Still gazing out she saw a newsboy run- 
ning to keep warm as he delivered the morning 
papers along his route. 

The new day dispelled Marjorie’s nervousness, 
and with a lighter heart she ran down to the door 
for the morning paper. A messenger boy crossed 
the street. He was coming toward her. With 
hands that trembled Marjorie took the telegram 
from him, and read: “Lawerence Wyngate was 


10 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


killed last evening in an accident while on a hunt- 
ing excursion/' 

Signed: 'T. Talbert." 

For a moment she stood quite still, unable to col- 
lect her thoughts, and then, the telegram falling 
from her hand, she lost consciousness. 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


11 


CHAPTER II 

In a small town the principal hostelry is always 
a center of social life. This is the starting point 
from which the stage carries passengers to and 
from the daily trains, and, if from its cumbrous 
depths a stranger steps, this is the sensation of the 
day. Even the loafers who sit with chairs tilted 
against the wall, in the office, or about the open 
doors, straighten up with sudden alacrity, and take 
the newcomer in with speculative interest. 

On the afternoon of which I write, in a Southern 
village, suspended above the open door of the prin- 
cipal hotel, a sign bearing the imposing inscription, 
‘*The Washington Hotel,” waved slowly in a gentle 
breeze. 

The stage had just come in, and while several 
people on the sidewalk stopped to look on with 
open mouthed interest, the fat clerk ran down the 
hotel steps with unusual alacrity to assist three 
passengers from the stage. 

One was a young woman dressed in deep mourn- 
ing, with a veil drawn over her face. She was fol- 
lowed by an old negress who held a little boy 
closely by the hand. 

“Such a pity house! Is this where Gen. George 
Washington lived?” the little boy asked, fastening 
innocent eyes upon the newly painted sign of the 
Washington Hotel. 

The young woman, drawing back her veil smiled. 
It was the first time that Marjorie Wyngate had 


12 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


smiled in many months. Not since the terrible day 
that had brought the news of her husband’s sudden 
death. The weeks that followed would always be 
a blank to Marjorie, for the shock, following so 
soon her strange vision, had caused a long illness. 

When at last she was well enough to take up life 
again, she had been given a letter from a lawyer 
representing the Wyngate family in the East, in- 
forming her that her husband’s death had been 
caused by an accident, while on a hunting trip in 
the Adirondack Mountains. That as he had been 
ciossing over a narrow bridge that spanned a moun- 
tain stream, in the darkness he had stumbled and 
fallen. “F. Talbert,” his hunting companion and 
friend of Oxford days, had summoned help but her 
husbands’ body had been washed swiftly away in 
the swollen stream, and never recovered. 

This Mr. Talbert, she was told, had been most 
kind and after doing all in his power in regard to 
his friend, had departed for Havre to meet the 
elder Mrs. Wyngate in Paris, and give her the par- 
ticulars of the tragedy. With this letter couched 
in the cold term of legal particularity, there had 
been another, a letter from the senior Mrs. Wyn- 
gate’s lawyer sent from her home in Paris, direct- 
ing her American lawyer to pay her daughter-in- 
law for her son’s child a monthly allowance. 

This allowance had continued for several months, 
and then with no reason assigned, had been dis- 
continued. 

This meant to Marjorie the difference between 
poverty and comparative comfort, and while unde- 
cided what she should do, a letter came to her that 
stirred her from the sorrowful present into memo- 
ries of her childhood. 

This letter was from Mrs. Clay, who had been a 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


13 


neighbor and an intimate friend of her mother’s. 
She wrote urging Marjorie to come with Rand and 
Mammy and make her a long visit. With Mrs. 
Clay’s cordial invitation she inclosed a newspaper 
clipping that interested Marjorie very much. It 
was to the effect that a certain Madame d’Holbret 
wished to secure a young woman of suitable at- 
tainments to act as her secretary. 

If she was not mistaken, this Madame d’Holbret 
was the person who, by paying off a small mort- 
gage, had bought in the "‘Shelter,” her Grandmoth- 
er’s old home. Remembering it, the Southern fra- 
grance of jasmine and honeysuckle was wafted by 
to Marjorie. She saw an old fashioned garden, 
with trim walks bordered with box, and a rose-cov- 
ered arbor where her grandmother entertained the 
country elite. Among them she remembered Mr. 
Robin Bonnycastle, the most charming man she 
had ever met! She had no time now, however, to 
pursue this train of thought. Marjorie was con- 
sumed with a desire to once again be in her old 
home, to take her child there. Without delay she 
wrote accepting Mrs. Clay’s invitation, and at the 
same time sent a letter to Madame d’Holbret apply- 
ing for the position of secretary. 

Very soon the reply came that Madame d’Hol- 
bret would like to see Mrs. Wyngate in person be- 
fore arriving at any definite decision. Not many 
days later, with Rand and Mammy, an old ne- 
gress who had been in the family for several gener- 
ations and was now Rand’s nurse, Marjorie started 
on her journey. On arriving at her destination she 
decided to go first to the little hostelry in the vil- 
lage, and after sending a message to notify Mrs. 
Clay of her arrival, she now sat awaiting her old 
friencL 


14 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


On hearing an exclamation from Rand, Marjorie 
looked up, and saw a tall woman advancing toward 
her with outstretched arms. Mrs. Clay gave Mar- 
jorie a motherly embrace, and then drawing about 
her ample skirts, she drew Rand into her arms. 

‘'My dear Marjorie, how glad I am to welcome 
you back to your childhood’s home. You should 
have come at once to me. Mr. Clay wishes me to 
say for him also that you are to consider our house 
your home.” 

“Tut, tut, my dear!” Mrs. Clay said, as Rand put 
up his little brown hand, and patting his mother on 
the cheek, wiped a tear from her eyes. “Can not a 
friendship that has endured through many genera- 
tions give one a right to give and receive such 
proof? Besides, can we forget that four genera- 
tions ago the intermarriages between our families 
began, when one of your ancestors, a Randolph, 
married a Kentucky Semple? This of course makes 
us relations.” 

“Dat is ’zackly what I been sayin’ all de time, 
Miss.” exclaimed Mammy, taking advantage of her 
age and long service. “All folks that is folks am kin 
folks.” 

Mrs. Clay turned upon Mammy an approving 
smile. 

“What a darling Rand is!” she said, giving the 
little boy in her arms a covert hug, while Rand, 
opening his blue eyes, regarded her with interest. 
“He is well grown, too, brown and hearty, which is 
certainly astonishing when you remember, poor 
lamb, that he has never spent a day in his life out 
of a city.” 

“I hoped that Appolina would come with you,” 
Marjorie said, smiling with pleasure at Mrs. Clay’s 
enthusiasm over Rand. 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


15 


**Appolina is not at home/^ Mrs. Clay replied, her 
face suddenly grave. ‘*She went up to the city to 
a ‘Tango Tea.* I saw a picture of the dancing.” 
Mrs. Clay cast her eyes at the ceiling and shud- 
dered. “When I remonstrated with Appolina, how- 
ever, she replied: ‘My dear mother, modesty was 
once quite a fad, it is now out of fashion. Some 
day it may come back again.* ** 

“I see that Appolina is as spoiled as ever,** Mar- 
jorie replied with an amused smile. “You say that 
dear Mr. Clay is as well as usual, and still study- 
ing American History? Now do tell me something 
of Mr. Bonnycastle and of Decimus Clay.** 

“Decimus is on his plantation, and still faithful 
to his early love.** Mrs. Clay regarded Marjorie 
for a moment with a rather quizzical expression, 
“My brother, Robin Bonnycastle, is well and as 
you remember, the most charming of men. He 
rarely leaves ‘Robin*s Roost,* and yet,** Mrs. Clay 
lowered her voice, “he is often absent for days.** 

In response to Marjorie*s look of bewilderment, 
Mrs. Clay only leaned over and kissed her, “And 
now I wish you to tell me something of youself.** 
“There is very little to tell that I have not writ- 
ten you,** Marjorie replied simply, “I now await a 
notification from Madame d’Holbret as to what 
time she wishes me to call, she may then arrive at 
some decision in regard to my becoming her secre- 
tary. d’Holbret is the name of the party who, by 
paying up a small mortgage, bought in my old 
home. I was not even notified of the transaction. 
Do you know anything of Madame d’Holbret?** 
“Madame d’Holbret has lived abroad, and is 
quite like a foreigner,” Mrs. Clay replied, impres- 
sively. “I am told that she is very reserved, but 
Dr. Pell, our new physician, an inquisitive little 


16 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


man, had the temerity to call upon her. She gave 
him to understand that she is an American and de- 
scended from one of the early settlers of New York. 
Many of the descendants of these same Dutch 
tradesmen have made the largest fortunes our coun- 
try can boast. Since her arrival, Madame d’Hol- 
bret has left the place but once when she went in 
a closed carriage to the village, and was closeted 
with lawyer Jasper. That is not all, my dear, her 
second husband is a French nobleman, so that she 
is a Baroness. Of course people will gossip.” 

As Mrs. Clay finished speaking she rose to her 
feet, and having warmly embraced Marjorie and 
Rand, she glanced about the room at their din^ 
surroundings with evident disapprobation. will 
not leave here,” she said, “until you promise not 
to spend another hour beneath this roof. I shall 
send over at once for your belongings.” Having 
complied with this request, Marjorie stood for some 
time at the window watching Mrs. Clay’s tall figure 
as it gradually disappeared down the village street. 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


17 


CHAPTER III 

Long French windows opened from the "‘Shelter'' 
upon a broad terrace, and from this one passed 
through the rose covered arbor into a garden that 
at some time long past had been laid out by a 
landscape gardener. 

Now the borders of box were no longer kept 
trimly clipped, and in the beds the flowers grew 
together in tangled masses of brilliant color. Near 
the center of the garden water trickled slowly from 
the mouth of a time worn gargoyle into a stone 
basin, and not far off the shadow finger of a sun- 
dial pointed toward noon. Before the windows 
opening out upon the terrace, however, the heavy 
green blinds were still closely drawn. 

Madame d’Holbret, fatigued by the incidents of 
the day before, had not risen as early as was her 
wont. In her pleasant bedroom overlooking the 
garden, she lay in a massive bedstead canopied 
with silk so startlingly new, in contrast with the 
ancient piece of furniture, that it gave it the aspect 
of a stately old aristocrat attired in the flashy garb 
of a parvenu. 

On a table by her bedside lay a long slender cane 
and near her hand there was a silver bell. 

Madame d'Holbret felt that she should rise, but 
was reluctant to make the effort; she began to fear 
that the Southern climate, sought by her for her 
health, might prove enervating. She had been 
somewhat of an invalid for several years, and had 
just returned from a three months' course of treat- 


18 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


ment for rheumatism at a neighboring Springs. 
Most of the work of renovating this old place had 
stopped short, awaiting her return, and there was 
plenty to fill her days for a long time to come, but 
her invalidism made her sink back again into her 
pillows, and she glanced appraisingly about the 
room which, except for its new silk draperies, was 
as it had been when she had bought in the estate. 
Evidently the old lady to whom the home had be- 
longed before its forced sale to cover a small mort- 
gage, had been a person of means and luxurious 
tastes. Very likely, she had been a proud descend- 
ant of one of those Virginia cavaliers, brave and 
gallant gentlemen, who, when not fighting for their 
country or their honor (they were certainly most 
punctilious in this respect) had spent their sub- 
stance on good living, horse races and the fighting 
of gamecocks. Her own ancestors had been good 
Dutch tradesmen, early settlers of Manhattan, who 
had left to their descendants habits of industry and 
thrift, as well as the golden fruits of these virtues. 
At present, Madame d’Holbret found the luxurious 
tastes of her predecessor convenient ! The coverlet 
that, although it was quite warm, she now drew up 
over her feet, was made of eiderdown, the sheets 
were of linen and the furniture massive and hand- 
some. And all bought in for a mere song! 

None knew better than she the curiosity of the 
countryside over her and her household, over the 
new owner of “The Shelter.” Dr. PelFs naive in- 
terest, lawyer Jaspers’ ill-concealed pryings, did not 
fill her with resentment at all, but she left all their 
yearnings for information unsatisfied. 

The smile that showed itself on Madame d’Hol- 
bret’s face at this thought was followed by a faint 
laugh, loud enough, it may have been, to be heard 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 19 

on the outside of the door, for immediately there 
was a knock, and a faded looking lady projecting 
her body partly into the room, timidly inquired if 
Madame had called? Receiving an imperious an- 
swer in the negative, the head was quickly with- 
drawn and the door closed softly. 

The expression of the mistress of The Shelter 
had changed to one of slight annoyance. The in- 
terruption had reminded her of a Mrs. Wyngate 
who had replied to her advertisement for a private 
secretary. It seemed that this Mrs. Wyngate had 
arrived in the village and that she was staying 
somewhere near with one of her friends. She had 
been notified that she could call at 11 o’clock, 
but Madame d’Holbret was very comfortable, and 
she still felt loathe to rise. 

Someone who had seen Mrs. Wyngate spoke of 
her as being attractive, with a personality that 
might become a presumption in a paid attendant. 
This was an objection, besides she had a child. 
Madame d’Holbret had caught a glimpse of the 
little boy as he ran laughing past her window, and 
he reminded her of — of a child she remembered in 
the past ! This resemblance might be imaginary, 
however, the name a coincidence. The Baroness’ 
black brows met in a heavy frown, and then with 
closed introspective eyes, she lay back among her 
pillows. The matter must be settled, however, be- 
fore the arrival of her husband, the Baron; nothing 
should annoy him. Answering this thought, she 
arose and touched sharply a silver bell. 

In the meantime, Marjorie, who had received a 
stiff note from Madame d’Holbret making an ap- 
pointment for her to call, now stood ringing, rather 
timidly, the doorbell of her old home. It seemed 
almost past comprehension that here in this home 


20 A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 

that had sheltered her childhood, that she should 
now await the convenience of a stranger ; and when 
a maid informed her that Madame d'Holbret had 
not yet arisen, but would be glad to see her later, 
it was with a sense of relief that she hurried from 
the door. 

Walking to the side of the house, she followed 
a winding path that led into the grove, and here 
she took her seat beneath the hanging boughs of a 
huge oak that she remembered as one of her early 
friends. With closed eyes, Marjorie lay back her 
head against the bole of the great tree. She felt 
strangely bewildered. To adjust one's self to new 
conditions, when the old have become a part of 
one's soul ,is one of life's most difficult lessons, and 
while Marjorie had girded up her strength so that 
she felt ready now to take upon herself the unac- 
customed burden of economic independence for 
Rand and herself, for the first time she found her- 
self questioning fate. 

Gradually, however, the scene about her brought 
her peace. Through her half-closed lids she could 
see on one side the white colonial house of the 
Clays, on the other, the dense grove of trees that 
hid from sight “Robin's Roost," the home of Mr. 
Robin Bonnycastle. Near by, through the trees, 
rose the tall red chimneys, sloping roof, and broad 
veranda of “The Shelter." Above her a boisterous 
woodpecker drilled in his insatiated desire for sap, 
and a little higher up a bright-eyed squirrel peeped 
out from its hiding place. 

Rand had walked over with her, but “Uncle 
Henry," her grandmother's old gardener, black as 
the soil to which he had been faithful, and now in 
the employ of Madame d'Holbret, had enticed him 
off into the garden. 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 21 

Marjorie^s heavy heart grew light, and her face 
radiant, for across the sunlit lawn she now saw 
Rand running toward her. In his hand he held a 
paper box and his blue eyes were gleaming with 
delight. “Four frogs. Mama! Uncle Henry says 
they ran so fast that he is sure they are all little 
boys, and I brought them to you for your birth- 
day.” 

Laughing, Marjorie drew Rand nearer to her, 
and then to show due appreciation of his gift, she 
looked into the box from which four green frogs 
stared miserably back at her from the loophole of 
this prison. 

“What makes them have such hoarse voices?” 
Rand asked suddenly. 

“Don't you remember the frog who would a- woo- 
ing go, whether his mother would or no?” Marjorie 
replied. “Probably he was punished for his diso- 
bedience by taking cold and ever since frogs have 
had to croak! Generations ago a Grandmother or 
a Grandfather frog was taken from its green home 
in a branch by a little boy like you. He put it into 
a box, and it was so astonished to find itself there 
that its eyes popped. Since then pop-eyes have 
belonged to the frog family and are now regarded 
as marks of beauty.” 

Rand looked thoughtful. “But these frogs did 
not come from a branch,” he objected, “they were 
under a tree.” 

“Very likely; then, Rand, the frog family is a 
very old one, and all the little frogs who are too 
proud or too lazy to work spend their time beneath 
its branches.” 

“Mr. Clay has a family tree, I saw it in the li- 
brary,” Rand replied, with childish astuteness. 

As they discussed the frogs, they could see Uncle 


22 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


Henry working in the garden, and faintly catch the 
words of the hymn that he sang. All about them 
were stillness, and shadows, and sweet odors. 

“Do you see the Lord walking with Uncle Henry, 
he says he walked with the Lord,'' Rand said, 
sleepily, and then, his head against his mother's 
shoulder, his long lashes resting upon his flushed 
cheeks, he lay apparently asleep, when suddenly 
rubbing his eyes, he sat up. 

From the house there was coming toward them 
a lady. She was very fragile looking, and in her 
faintly tinted summer gown, she seemed almost to 
form a part of the landscape. As she drew near, 
and her figure took definite shape against the bole 
of the tree, Marjorie remembered that she had seen 
her passing, and that Mrs. Clay had said that she 
was a relation and companion of Madame d'HoL 
bret, and that she was called “Miss Araminta." 

When Miss Araminta drew near she stopped for 
a minute and regarded Marjorie and Rand as if she 
were slightly agitated, and then she took Marjorie's 
hand with a deprecating smile. 

“Madame d'Holbret asked me to say to you that 
she would be pleasfed to see you at once. Would 
you object to going back to the house alone, and 
allow me to stay here with Rand for a little while?" 
she asked timidly. 

Marjorie noticed how sweet Miss Araminta's 
voice was, and as Rand held out his hand and made 
a place for her by his side, she hurried off, feeling 
sure that Miss Araminta was a very nice person. 
For children and animals have instinct, while we 
poor grown-ups have only a weak and frequently 
mistaken reasoning power that leads us into many 
erroneous opinions in regard to our fellow beings. 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


23 


CHAPTER IV 

Marjorie found Madame d’Holbret in a room 
overlooking the terrace that brought back many 
recollections of her childhood. The great teester 
bedstead in the corner, with steps to mount up to 
the feather bed, she felt sure were the identical pair 
she had climbed upon as a child to nibble off bits 
of wax from the taper that had invariably stood by 
her grandmother’s bedside. Through the open 
windows came the fragrance from arbors of roses 
and beds of old-fashioned flowers. 

Seated in a large chair, with her head turned 
from the door, Madame d’Holbret’s proud and 
handsome profile was sharply defined against the 
light. A huge dog, so like a wolf that Marjorie was 
startled, lay near her feet. 

She made no movement as Marjorie came into 
the room, but with an almost imperceptible nod in- 
dicated a chair near the window. Then, as if act- 
uated by some disturbing thought, she grasped a 
cane that lay near her hand, and sharply tapped 
upon the bare oaken floor. 

The dog opened his eyes with a growl, and turn- 
ing to quiet him, Madame d’Holbret showed that 
only one side of her face was handsome; the other 
high cheek bone was disfigured by a scar, which 
took the form of the imprint of a hand. It gave a 
sinister expression to her face, and her care in ar- 
ranging her position showed that it caused her 
some chagrin. 

For a moment she sat silently contemplating 


24 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


Marjorie with an air of hauteur which changed to 
a keen scrutiny. She looked as if she were apprais- 
ing her possible employee from every point of view, 
in order to make up her mind once for all how val- 
uable this young woman's services would be to her. 
Marjorie gazed steadily back at her, with the feel- 
ing that much might depend upon the first impres- 
sion, trying to keep in mind that Rand’s comfort 
was being weighed in the balance. 

'‘Marjorie Wyngate, you say, is your name?” 
she asked coldly. 

Marjorie flushed before she could answer. 
Madam d’Holbret interposed. 

"It is necessary to guard against imposters, and 
your name interests me slightly. Have you a rela- 
tive of a similar name who married a Wyngate?” 

"Not that I know of, but, curiously enough, in 
our old home I read in the newspaper of a Mrs. 
Wyngate who had died, and thought it a coinci- 
dence that we should have the same name, or one 
so similar, for I am under the impression that her 
name was Margaret. She and her little son were 
the victims of an epidemic of diphtheria.” 

The Baroness leaned her gray head back against 
her chair, an expression, almost of relief, passing 
over her face. 

"The name Margaret must have been used for 
Marjorie,” she said reflectively. 

Marjorie looked at her with some surprise, as she 
made what to her seemed an irrelevant remark. 

"Since you are here I will see if you are capable 
of filling the position of secretary,” Madam d’Hol- 
bret continued, but the boy, what will you do with 
him?” 

"I thought you understood, when I replied to 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 23 

your letter, that I will never be separated from 
my boy.” 

Unconsciously, Marjorie drew herself up as she 
spoke. 

|‘You can come over to-morrow,” the Baroness 
said hurriedly, with a curt nod of dismissal, while 
a wonderful transformation passed over the face 
that had before regarded Marjorie so narrowly. 
The eyes that were small, and near together, 
lighted up now with eager expectation, seeming to 
grow larger and farther apart. She had risen from 
her chair, and stood smoothing down the folds of 
her silk neglige, while footsteps in the hall drew 
nearer. Mar j oriels attention was attracted, how- 
ever, by another sound. The dog had risen on his 
haunches, his gums drawn back showed long white 
fangs, and his bloodshot eyes were fixed upon the 
doorway, where, turning, she saw that the portiere 
was drawn gently aside, and a gentleman stood 
within the doorway. 

He was young, very foreign, distinguished look- 
ing. 

The dog and the man regarded each other for a 
moment, the dog still showing his teeth, and then, with 
his face transformed by a charming smile, the 
stranger stepped swiftly across the floor. 

“It seems that my son's dog, sent me after his 
death, bears you some grudge, Francis!'^ the Bar- 
oness said, smiling, an apology in her tone. 

Drawing slowly together the portieres, made of 
some beautiful East Indian fabric, as she left the 
room, Marjorie looked back to see that the young 
man had placed his arm familiarly about the elderly 
woman’s waist, and then, wondering, she hurried 
down the steps. 

Mrs. Clay had walked over to join Marjorie, and 


26 


A MASTER OP THE INNER COURT 


she now stood awaiting her in the hall, looking 
about her with naive curiosity and some disdain at 
the various changes made in the old house. 

Marjorie drew her into the long salon parlor that 
she remembered never to have entered in her child- 
hood without some degree of awe. 

Between the tall windows there was a glimpse 
of the lawn, while the niches in the walls, once 
filled with family portraits, now held foreign scenes 
that seemed incongruous with the handsome, though 
sombre room. The silver candelabra on the mantel 
held many branches, but there were no candles in 
them. Marjorie had often seen them lighted in her 
childhood, and recalled in fancy the weird light 
they cast over the long mirrors that now dimly re- 
flected the two ladies standing together: Marjorie 
Wyngate, slender, and very fair in her black gown, 
and Mrs. Clay’s majestic figure, her brilliant eyes, 
and hair snow white. 

“Did you see him, Marjorie?” whispered Mrs. 
Clay, with excited interest. 

“See whom?” Marjorie replied, absently; “Oh, 
you mean the gentleman who just went upstairs! 
Who is he?” 

“Why, do you not know?” Mrs. Clay regarded 
Marjorie with astonishment. “That was the Bar- 
on. Madam d’Holbret’s husband.” 

The two ladies exchanged a smile. 

“But that is preposterous!” exclaimed Marjorie. 
“He must be at least twenty years younger than 
his wife.” 

“It is becoming the fashion to rear youths as 
husbands. The Baroness Buldette Coutt long ago 
established the precedent. And after all, if hus- 
bands are properly trained from their youth up — 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


27 


the divorce courts ” Mrs. Clay lowered her 

voice discreetly, “may not be so full.” 

Marjorie's thoughts were not upon the divorce 
courts, however ; she was thinking of Baron d’Hol- 
bret. Was it his name, or something in his face, 
or his figure that touched a chord in her memory? 
She could not tell. 

“It seems that the Baron had an English mother, 
and for her sake he likes to be called Francis in- 
stead of Francois.” 

“I do not think the Baron gives the impression 
that he would have very much sentiment about his 
mother,” Marjorie suggested. 

“He is undoubtedly handsome, in the Lord By- 
ron style,” Mrs. Clay remarked. “But do tell me, 
Marjorie,” she continued anxiously, “has Madam 
d’Holbret decided ” 

“I am to go over to-morrow,” replied Marjorie. 
“She suggests, however, for the present, I shall 
find lodgings outside the house on — on account of 
Rand.” Her voice shook a little. 

“She should be proud and pleased to have the 
blessed darling in the house, if just for the pleas- 
ure of looking at him !” Mrs. Clay exclaimed in- 
dignantly. “Of course, then, you will remain with 
us. You need not shake your head, my love, for I 
will not hear of anything else ; Mr. Clay would be 
distressed to death. I must go now,” she contin- 
ued, gathering up her skirts with old fashioned pre- 
cision. “Mr. Clay must have finished his siesta, 
and will be longing for his cup of tea,” 

“Rand and I will join you presently,” said Mar- 
jorie brightly, “so tell Mr. Clay not to eat all the 
cake.” 

This was a time-honored threat of the invalid 
to Marjorie, who knew as well as he did, how rigid 


28 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


was his diet. But it amused them both. There is 
something rather comforting about old jokes be- 
tween friends. 

Walking with Mrs. Clay to the gap in the hedge 
that divided the two places, Marjorie stood watch- 
ing her tall figure until it was hidden in the trees, 
and then she listened to the strident notes of two 
brown thrushes perched on a twig near by. Kneel- 
ing down that she might see better into the hedge, 
she felt warm young arms encircle her waist, and 
with Rand's face pressed close to her own they 
peered into the nest. 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


29 


CHAPTER V 

Baron d’Holbret, the new owner of the ‘‘Shelter,” 
stood in an upper room looking down upon the 
grove of trees. He had been making an inven- 
tory of the furniture in his room, in fact, of every- 
thing in the house. 

This ancestral home with its belongings he had 
bought for his wife, who had lately returned to 
America. Gazing around upon his possessions, he 
felt that he had cause to congratulate himself. 

Mrs. Randolph, the former owner of the prop- 
erty, had been, at the time of her death, a very old 
lady. She leh but three heirs. One of these, 
whose name he had not learned, he had since dis- 
covered, through the carelessness of his lawyer, 
had never signed the deed that would have made 
the sale valid. 

His wife, Madame d’Holbret, had definitely en- 
gaged a Mrs. Wyngate as her secretary. Her little 
boy was to remain with her, and this arrangement 
secured to Madame for a mere pittance, the services 
of an accomplished young woman. Baron d’Hol- 
bret had pointed out that in the evenings she could 
be useful as an accompanist, and in many other 
ways. The child’s presence was not desirable, but 
would undoubtedly make her contented with her 
surroundings. The beautiful, sad face of this 
young woman haunted him. If only he had met 
her on his first visit to America, while he was mak- 
ing investigations as to the property of a wealthy 


30 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


widow he had met at Vevey! That property he 
had intended to secure for himself some day. 
Talbert” had sent the telegram — since that time F. 
Talbert . An enigmatic smile crossed the Bar- 

on's face. Pacing restlessly up and down the room, 
the thin nostrils of his aquiline nose seemed to 
dilate in a way that might have denoted sensibility 
had not this suggestion been belied by the cold 
craftiness of his eye, which was again inconsistent 
with the soft sensuality of his handsome mouth. 

Gradually his face cleared. After all, that he 
should have married a woman almost twice his 
age, was a sacrifice necessitated by the inconsider- 
ate conduct of a paternal ancestor in France whose 
title, Baron d’Holbret, he had inherited, but with 
it, unfortunately, very little financial emolument. 
The title had not tempted American heiresses, sev- 
eral of whom had shown a decided callousness to 
his charms. He had arranged the preliminaries to 
his marriage with much care. Only once had he 
repented its consummation, and now an inscrutable 
fate had placed within his own home Marjorie 
Wyngate in the capacity of secretary of his wife. 

In marrying an elderly woman, d’Holbret had 
taken into consideration her large fortune alone; 
her strong character, combined with a closeness in 
money matters that almost amounted to miserli- 
ness, he had not fully understood. This latter 
characteristic was peculiarly objectionable to him 
and he resorted to extraordinary means to over- 
come it. He had succeeded beyond his hopes, and 
began his married life by wiping out his debts and 
with them he hoped to wipe out many other things. 
Now he was confronted by a problem more diffi- 
cult than any he had solved. 

With an effort to dismiss the subject from his 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


31 


mind, he leaned forward slightly, and saw Marjorie 
Wyngate appear through the front door. He sat 
watching her unconscious grace as she raised her 
sunshade and passed swiftly from sight. Rising 
nervously, he took from his waistcoat pocket a sil- 
ver matchsafe and relit his cigar, pacing the floor 
with rapid steps as he continued to smoke. 

In the meantime, Marjorie, unaware of eyes bent 
upon her, was on her way to visit Mr. Bonnycaslie, 
who had just returned to his home from the Orient. 
She had wished Rand and Mammy to accompany 
her, but poor old Mammy, for the first time in her 
life, was hard at work assisting in the laundry work 
for her “board and keep,” and Rand she had found 
in the yard, decidedly opposed to paying a visit, 
since he was engaged in personating a hen, his small 
figure almost hidden from sight in the folds of a 
waterproof cape, within which a motherless chick 
cuddled, under the impression that it had refuge 
beneath the maternal wings. In the rear, a tall 
shanghai rooster, with one leg in a splint, hopped 
solemnly along, occasionally stopping to crow lus- 
tily. 

Marjorie started, therefore, alone and walking 
quickly along a short stretch of country road, she 
reached a heavy iron gate capped with stone acorns, 
which led into the grove which surrounded “Rob- 
in’s Roost.” Here she stood for a few minutes 
looking up and down the long white stretches of turn- 
pike, the fields of ripening grain and the distant hills. 
Marjorie’s thoughts were not upon the landscape, 
however, she was thinking of the visit she was going 
to make. She had not seen Mr. Bonnycastle since her 
childhood. He could not have been very young even 
then, for his hair had been white, though of course he 
was many years younger than her grandmother, with 


32 A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 

whom on summer evenings he frequently took tea 
in the flower-covered arbor, and seated together, 
Marjorie remembered what a beautiful couple she 
had thought them. 

One occasion especially impressed itself upon her 
mind : the two, Mr. Bonnycastlc and her grand- 
mother, were talking together very earnestly, \vhcn 
her grandmother’s beautiful e>’es brimmed with 
tears, and he had leaned over and kissed her hands 
very tenderly. Soon after this, Mr. Bonnycastlc 
w^ent away, and her grandmother had spoken of his 
goodness that had made him come to be regarded 
as a saint, and that he w’as also a genius, and ex- 
pended most of the large fortune he had made, in 
w^orks of philanthropy. 

From time to time, in the >"cars that followed, 
strange stories came back from the far East of the, 
what seemed, supernatural powders Mr. Bonnycastlc 
had developed. These stories filled the minds of 
the simple country folks with w'onder. 

Now, after many years, he had returned and in a 
few minutes she would see him. With a quicken- 
ing of the pulse, and a sudden sense of timidity, she 
walked in the **dim cool aisles” beneath the giant 
oaks. The air seemed alive wdth the song of birds 
— the harsh call of the catbird, ending in a burst of 
song, the ”to w’hitch to whee” of a ground robin, 
as, startled, it flew up from the ground. From a 
thicket she heard the plaintive note of a mourning 
dove, and between the branches of the trees there 
frequently came a flash of blue, as a blue jay "with 
harsh screams and unmusical calls seemed to try 
to drown the notes of the sweet voiced singers. 

Drawing near the large red brick house, a dem- 
onstrative collie rushed toward her with so tumult- 


A MASTER OF THE ISXER COURT 


33 


uous a welcome that she found it difficult to ascend 
the stone steps that led up to the door. Here she 
stood for a moment examining the knocker — a 
dragon's head — before she rais^ the heavy ring 
that hung from the dragon's mouth. 


34 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


CHAPTER VI 

In response to her knock, a comely Scotch wo- 
man opened the door, and she was ushered into a 
circular hall, wainscotted in English oak. The 
broad polished stairway was lighted by a skylight 
in the roof, and with windows of stained glass on 
the landings. On each side of the hall she no- 
ticed that there was an arched doorway. 

'‘May I see Mr. Bonnycastle?” Marjorie asked. 

“Til take in ye’re name, Ma’am,” the woman re- 
plied pleasantly. She had walked off a short dis- 
tance, when turning, she regarded Marjorie with 
sudden anxiety. 

“Be ye married, lady?” she asked abruptly. She 
put so much solicitude into this extraordinary ques- 
tion that Marjorie looked at her too much aston- 
ished to speak. 

“I have been married, but I am a widow now,” 
she managed to say at last. As her words died 
away, from somewhere, she could not tell where, 
there came to her a faint whisper like a wordless 
chant or prayer, or the stirring of wings. Marjorie 
looked about her to determine from what source 
the unexpected sound had proceeded. 

“Did you speak?” she called sofPy to Janet. 

“No, lady!” was the gentle reply, as the woman 
turned startled eyes upon her. 

At this moment, through one of the arched door- 
ways, Mr. Bonnycastle came toward her. Though 
she knew that threescore years and ten had passed 
over his head, yet save the snowy locks that fell 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 35 

Upon his shoulders, there was nothing to indicate 
age in the gentleman who welcomed her so cor- 
dially, holding her hands warmly within his own — 
such beautiful hands, Marjorie noticed that his 
were, slender and tapering, the hands of an artist 
an idealist! 

'‘I hoped you would come, Marjorie, and knew 
you would before long. But where is your little 
boy?” 

There was something so cordial, so caressing in 
his tone, that Marjorie felt at home at once, and 
laughingly explained how she had left Rand, caring 
for a disabled rooster and an orphan chick. She 
promised that he should come another time. 

Mr. Bonnycastle smiled in sympathy with her 
narration. “Come!” he said, raising from the low 
divan on which they had taken their seats, “Let 
us go to my innermost recess, my sanctum santorum, 
where we can talk better. Will you come?” 

Passing through one of the arched doorways, 
they entered a short corridor which led to a 
brightly lighted room. Glancing about her, Mar- 
jorie noticed the many books that lined the walls, the 
rugs on the polished floor, the large table piled with 
magazines, papers, pipes and tobacco, the latter 
for the use of his friends, for Mr. Bonnycastle did 
not smoke. Around the table comfortable chairs 
were drawn up invitingly. In one of these Mr. 
Bonnycastle placed Marjorie, with a stool at her 
feet. 

“I knew you from your likeness to your mother,” 
he said, with a charming smile; “you look more 
like her than you did as a little girl.” Involun- 
tarily he glanced toward a niche in the wall hidden 
by a curtain. “She was beautiful and gifted, with 
a genius that obliged her to follow the bent of her 


36 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


own mind; so she went on the stage. This was 
very differently regarded at that time. The world 
has progressed — in a way,” he continued thought- 
fully. '‘A hundred or so years ago, Dr. Samuel 
Johnson said that it did not do for a woman to be 
a portrait painter, because ht would be highly im- 
proper for her to look into a male’s face. “Now !” 
A whimsical expression came into Mr. Bonnycas- 
tle’s eyes, and he shrugged his shoulders with a 
smile. 

“Before we speak of anything else, Marjorie — I 
may call you by that familiar name? — you must 
have been astonished at the unusual question asked 
you by the woman, Janet Markham, at the door?” 

Marjorie replied in the affirmative. 

“That is the results of the strange conditions at- 
tending my inheritance of my uncle’s property, 
which have been misrepresented. He was, as you 
probably know, an eccentric bachelor, disappointed 
in the love of his life, and by his will left me ‘Rob- 
in’s Roost,’ with all his other possessions. The 
stipulations were that I was to live in the house a 
part of each year, to remain unmarried, and the 
property was to be entailed upon the next of kin 
unmarried. My nephew, Decimus Clay, is now my 
heir. He is the last male of kin, and the will makes 
a serious provision in this case. Another stipula- 
tion of this strange document is to the effect that 
no married woman, other than the mother or sister 
of the owner, should ever be entertained as a guest 
within these doors.” 

“I never heard of so unnatural a will !” exclaimed 
Marjorie impulsively. “How could anyone be ex- 
pected to follow out such conditions?” 

“I gave my word to my uncle, Marjorie; this 
meant much more to me than the provisions of his 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


37 


will. Beside/’ Mr. Bonnycastle flushed slightly, '‘I 
had no temptation to do otherwise, for she whom 
alone I would have married, in the only real mar- 
riage, that of communion of spirit, passed from the 
earth before my uncle’s death.” 

“And you have been alone all these years?” Mar- 
jorie asked, the thought of his loneliness bringing 
sudden tears to her eyes. 

“No,” Mr. Bonnycastle replied serenely, “I am 
not alone, for she is often with me, and at times 
I have been permitted to go to her.” 

Except that his beautiful voice seemed to grow 
more tender, he might have been speaking of some 
every day occurrence. “Most frequently, however, 
she has come to me, and that,” he smiled, “is my 
happiness ! Not many days ago, a child, now 
grown into a woman, whom she loved, brought me 
a basket of flowers and as we talked of my beloved, 
I felt, I knew that she stood near me. You do not 
understand, Marjorie,” he went on, “but some day 
you will. Each of our senses may be conceived of 
as striving toward development of a wider kind 
than earthly experience has as yet allowed. The 
evidence for communion with the departed is in my 
personal experience as strong as that for telepathic 
communication between the living, and of that, you 
know, there can be no doubt.” 

“If only the whole world could possess this 
knowledge!” Marjorie exclaimed. 

“The whole world will possess it,” Mr. Bonny- 
castle said quickly. “The hour has come, and since 
the first carrier pigeon has swooped down into this 
fastness of beleaguered men, the ear of the world 
has been turned to it, the heart of the world is open 
awaiting the revelations so near at hand.” 

“It would be a great happiness to me,” Marjorie 


38 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


said, opening suddenly her gray eyes, that long and 
narrow, seldom opened wide except when she was 
deeply stirred, and then gave a glimpse of her soul. 
“I would often be very lonely if it were not for 
Rand. When a woman has a child,’^ the faint 
smile on her lips deepened into a glow of happi- 
ness, "‘she no longer lives in the same world that 
she has lived in before. Her heart expands until 
it reaches out to everything in nature that is young, 
and tender, and helpless.'' 

“The young as well as the old are very near the 
borders of another land," Mr. Bonnycastle replied. 
“The Master's tenderest words were called forth by 
children. He himself became ‘one of these little 
ones,' and lay in the lowly manger with his blessed 
Mother, whose ear is now open to their faintest 
cry." 

For several moments there was silence, broken 
by the entrance of Janet with the tea service. 
After some conversation of a lighter nature, Mr. 
Bonnycastle asked with slight hesitation, “What 
have you heard lately from your husband’s mother, 
Marjorie?" 

“Nothing, for some time," replied Marjorie, flush- 
ing a little; then she continued almost with re- 
sentment, “I have never seen Mrs. Wyngate, and I 
never shall !" 

“I must tell you something of your childhood," 
Mr. Bonnycastle said brightly, changing the sub- 
ject. “Before doing so, however, allow me," he 
took from Marjorie's hand a delicate sevres cup 
from which she had been drinking the fragrant tea, 
“I saw you twice then. The first time you were 
playing in a garden with Decimus Clay. The next 

time " Mr. Bonnycastle laughed, and there was 

that suggestion of youth in his face that Marjorie 


A MASTER OP THE INNER COURT 39 

had at first noticed. ^‘Each Sunday your grand- 
mother was driven in a closed carriage into the vil- 
lage to church. On this particular Sunday she was 
indisposed. She was very small, and you were tall 
for your age, so without anyone suspecting it you 
slipped on her bonnet and long black veil, and the 
broche shawl that she was in the habit of wearing, 
and took your seat in the carriage. It was not un- 
til you reached the church and had been solemnly 
escorted up the aisle by one of the vestrymen, that 
you threw back your veil and showed to the as- 
tounded members of the congregation a small im- 
pudent face peering out at them through a pair of 
large spectacles. If I remember rightly, the ser- 
vices were brought to an abrupt conclusion.'' 

'‘I fear that I was a very naughty girl," Mar- 
jorie said, laughing, “and that this proneness to 
error has followed me through life! Think what 
disgrace I am in now with Madame d'Holbret for 
having absented myself so long! It has been de- 
lightful sitting here with you, and I lost all count 

of as she spoke, a crsytal clock in the room 

struck, and through the open door from every room 
in the house there came silvery chimes. 

“You will come and see me again, soon? I have 
somethin? that I wish to show you," Mr. Bonny- 
castle said, as Marjorie rose to leave. 

“Just as soon as you will let me, and I can es- 
cape from Madame d'Holbret. You must see 
Rand !" 

After Mr. Bonnycastle had watched Marjorie 
from his front steps until she was out of sight, he 
came slowly back to the house and into the room 
in which they had been seated. Drawing aside a 
curtain from a niche in the wall, he gazed with rapt 


40 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


eyes upon a portrait — that of a beautiful girl in 
her first youth. 

As he continued to gaze upon this picture, a 
strange transformation gradually passed over Mr. 
Bonnycastle. Falling back into a chair, his face, 
over which at first there had stolen a deathly pal- 
lor, became radiant. The soul in the eyes of the 
young girl looked into his own soul, and a white 
rose that she held in her hand fell at his feet, as she 
beckoned him — ^beyond! to the land of Love Immor- 
tal. There was a knock at the door, and Janet Mark- 
ham, coming softly into the room, removed the tray 
that stood upon the table. Turning to speak to Mr. 
Bonnycastle, she paused, startled, then hastening to 
his side lifted his hand, which fell lifeless in her own. 
With an exclamation, she touched a silver bell, and 
her husband, a brawny Scotchman, with a fine grave 
face, came into the room. 

'T misdoot it*s farewell, this time, Andrew she 
said in a broken voice. 

'"Na, na,” the Scotchman said, as together they 
tenderly laid Mr. Bonnycastle upon a couch. “See 
hoo gently he breathes, he willna be awa’ long/' 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


41 


CHAPTER VII 

Returning, Marjorie had walked quickly through 
the grove and over the short stretch of turnpike 
that led to the *‘Shelter’^ before she realized the 
lateness of the hour. The stars shone through 
scurrying clouds, and suddenly becoming aware of 
the oppressive heat, she walked more slowly. 

The visit to Mr. Bonnycastle had made a deep 
impression upon her mind. The loneliness and un- 
certainty of which she had spoken to him had 
given way to a quiet confidence in his friendship 
and protection, which she was sure would be ex- 
tended equally to Rand and herself. Strange as his 
words had been, the manner in which they were 
spoken gave them the force of truth, and as she 
listened, to Marjorie had come the feeling of hu- 
mility that one experiences in the presence of a 
spiritual superior. 

At a distance she saw Rand’s little figure flitting 
in and out among the trees in pursuit of a lightning 
bug. He had always shown a passion for light, and 
this little insect, with its lamp that has baffled the 
minds of the most eminent scientists, was to him 
a source of constant delight. 

Having secured his prize, he ran with it clasped 
closely in his hand toward his mother, covering 
her face with such ardent kisses that it brought a 
smile to the lips of Baron d’Holbret, who, in a 
cloud of tobaico smoke, watched them from the 
gallery. 

Near by, Madame d’Holbret reclined on a couch, 


42 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


while Miss Araminta, pale and exhausted looking*, 
fanned her with a palmetto fan. 

“See what a beautiful light it makes. said Rand, 
“it is shining just as hard as it can all the time.” 

As he cautiously opened his hand to show his 
treasure to his mother, the little winged creature, 
after poising a moment, flew upward and was soon 
lost to sight among the trees. 

“Never mind, Rand,” said Marjorie, tenderly* 
“It has gone to give light somewhere else, I sup- 
pose.” 

“It makes me think of what the minister says in 
church at the collection, you know, 'Let your light 
so shine before men,’ replied the child, “but that 
couldn’t mean lightning bugs, could it?” 

Marjorie struggled hard to maintain her compos- 
ure, but Baron d’Holbret began to laugh. 

“It would be delightful if all of us could realize 
fully what we were meant to do, so that our 'light 
might shine before men,’ ” murmured the Baron, 
who had a disconcerting way of seeing and hearing 
all that went on around him, whether it was in- 
tended to reach him or not. 

“I think that the rain is near,” Madame d’Hol- 
bret remarked, stirring uneasily. 

“The lights in heaven are all going out. Has 
God gone to bed?” Rand asked, in an awestruck 
whisper. 

“Little hoys should be in bed at all events!” 
Madame d’Holbret said sharply, rising from her 
couch, for heavy drops of rain were now beginning 
to fall. As she spoke, there was something in her 
expression as inscrutable as the darkness, and that 
might have belied the sharpness of her words. 

Miss Araminta wearily collected the books and 
papers from which she had been reading to her em- 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 43 

ployer earlier in the afternoon. Then observing 
that Madame d’Holbret was some distance in ad- 
vance of her, she quickly gathered up shawls and 
cushions, and walked rapidly to the house. Sev- 
eral times Marjorie had attempted to help her, but 
she only shook her head, and smiled faintly. As 
she proceeded, with some awkwardness, it must be 
confessed, she dropped a portion of her load, which 
Rand energetically assisted her to re-adjust, offer- 
ing politely to carry it all. 

Baron d’Holbret, who had been an amused 
spectator of this little scene, again laughed at the 
difficulties of Miss Araminta. and his mirth in- 
creased when she hurried off like a frightened rab- 
bit as the voice of Madame was heard, calling her 
with some impatience. 

“How charming a virtue is meekness!” he com- 
mented, with a slight sneer. “But Miss Araminta 
should never hurry. Haste does not become her.” 

“She is good and lovely,” replied Marjorie, her 
eyes flashing. “And meekness is a rare quality, 
which I, for one, do not possess.” 

“That is easily seen,” said the Baron, smiling 
covertly in the darkness. 

Marjorie made no answer, but she felt her color 
rise hotly. 

“Come, Rand,” she said, controlling herself, and 
smiling down into his eager young face, “It is time 
for little boys to be asleep.” 

After Rand had gone upstairs that night he lay 
awake in his little white bed near his mother’s lis- 
tening to the rain pattering upon the roof and the 
wind moaning through the great-trees. At last he 
crept into his mother’s bed, and snuggled his warm 
little body close to hers. “As God walks about the 
world, is the lightning His lantern?” he asked. 


44 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


CHAPTER VIII 

Above the wing in which Marjorie and Rand 
slept, and which was somewhat remote from the 
rest of the house, an oak tree spread its branches, 
and frequently they were awakened in the morning 
by squirrels dropping down across or scampering 
over the roof. It was Rand’s delight in the early 
morning to count the acorns in an undertone, or to 
hold conversations with the noisy squirrels in or- 
der to amuse himself when he awakened too early 
to get up. He never found himself at a loss for 
entertainment of some sort, and did not require to 
be amused. 

He had soon gone to sleep after the storm of the 
preceding night, but he now lay for what seemed 
hours listening to the wind as it gradually died 
away. “It sounds so lonely,” he thought, “like a 
person that hasn’t any home.” He must have gone 
to sleep again in a little while, for when he next 
opened his eyes. Mammy, who made some pretense 
every morning so that she might look in on the 
little boy, had come upstairs to search for a miss- 
ing article from the week’s wash. 

Rand waved his hand at her, and called out: 
“Good morning. Mammy,” but he had quickly be- 
come engrossed in some childish game and was not 
quite ready to get up yet. There were many things 
at the Shelter that were entirely new to him, and 
had given him much food for reflection. Of one 
thing he was sure, he did not like Madame d’Hol- 
bret’s husband. 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


45 


“Betta get up from thar, lil’ boy/' said Mammy, 
in her soft throaty voice, “Thar is something wait- 
ing for you out in the gyarden." 

Before a question could be asked. Mammy’s head 
quickly disappeared from the door, and Rand, open- 
ing his eyes, saw that the sun was shining brightly 
into the room. He lay still for several minutes 
wondering about the storm, and then sprang up 
quickly and began to dress himself. Standing on 
tiptoe his head reached to the top of the old ma- 
hogany dresser, but he could only see a front lock 
of hair, upon which he bestowed all his attention. 
When he had completed his toilette he ran down 
the steps, past the magnolia tree, where the old 
peacock walked in solitary state trailing his emer- 
ald and bronze tail. Rand paid no attention to him 
but hurried on to the garden where the sunlight 
was shining through the red silk cups of the pop- 
pies, until it hurt his eyes and he looked away over 
to the green of the trees. 

When he drew near to the fountain, he ran faster, 
for he felt sure that there he would find the treas- 
ure that Mammy had intimated awaited him in the 
garden. 

The fountain was his favorite place to play. No 
longer, however, a glittering spray of water rose up 
in the air and then rained down again with a cool 
splash against the basin. This was filled by an 
underground pipe, and in the center of the foun- 
tain, where a Satyr had once stood, holding up a 
drinking cup from which the spray ascended, there 
was now only a flat, bare stone. 

A few days after her arrival at the “Shelter,” 
when Mammy had come out to the fountain with 
Rand, she had sighed heavily, and Rand, in defer- 
ence to Mammy’s feelings, had sighed also. There 


46 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


was evidently some mystery about the disappear- 
ance of this '‘monument to Satire/' as Mammy 
called it. Rand thought of it a great deal, wonder- 
ing if his great grandmother had sold it before 
Madame d’Holbret bought the “Shelter." 

He climbed over now on a plank bridge that he 
had made to the stone upon which the Satyr had 
once rested, and sat watching the water until he 
noticed that its surface was disturbed. Something 
alive was floating on it. A turtle! He felt sure 
that was what Mammy had meant for him to come 
out to see. Two or three times the turtle climbed 
upon the stone on which he sat, and he tried to 
help it to reach the surface, but each time it slipped 
back into the water. When at last he was tired of 
playing with it. he strolled over to the sun dial to 
see if he could tell the time by its long, shadow 
finger. As Rand stood here, he saw walking tow- 
ard him down the garden walk, a gentleman whom 
he recognized as the “husband of Madame d’Hol- 
bret," for by no other title, so far, had the new 
master of the “Shelter" been recognized by its in- 
mates. 

The Baron d’Holbret did not see Rand until he 
drew quite near, and then, stopping suddenly, they 
both stood looking at each other 

“Are you a gentleman?" Rand asked, with great 
politeness, feeling that it was incumbent upon him 
to break the awkward silence. 

“What an odd little chap!" The Baron put up 
his pincenez and regarded Rand more closely. 

“I am very tall !" Rand replied, drawing himself 
up. 

“But what made you ask such a question?" His 
interlocutor said, laughing. 

“My mother says that a gentleman never laughs 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


47 


at a lady. Miss Araminta is a lady. My mother 
. . . here she comes now 

Marjorie had come through the gate, and was 
walking rapidly toward them. Dressed in white, 
her cheeks slightly flushed, and her pretty hair 
blowing in soft tendrils about her face, she looked 
very fair and sweet. 

Only noticing Rand at first, she now bowed 
slightly to his companion. 

“I am just enjoying a talk with your little son,” 
the Baron said, with an ingratiating smile. 

Marjorie bowed again, unsmilingly, and the 
Baron, glancing lightly at her. continued : “A 
pleasure that in your own society you have de- 
nied me. Will you think it presumption for me to 
say that I thought your abrupt departure from my 
wife’s room, on the day of my arrival here, very 
unkind?” 

“Not at all, it seemed unnecessary for me to re- 
main. I am the secretary of your wife, Baron 
d’Holbret.” 

“So the Baroness informs me. I hope that you 
will find the occupation congenial. I should infer 
— if you will pardon me again for a personality — 
that an occupation is a novel experience for you.” 

“Do I give the impression of being so idle a 
person?” Marjorie smiled for the first time. “In 
reality,” she spoke impulsively, “I felt willing to 
make almost any sacrifice to bring my boy to this 
old home where I spent my own happy childhood.” 

“And this was your old home?” To Marjorie’s 
surprise the Baron looked disconcerted, and then 
stooping, he restored a rose that had fallen from 
Marjorie’s hand to the garden walk. As he gave 
her the flower he looked intently at her as if try- 
ing to read her thoughts. 


48 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


Marjorie returned his gaze, unfeigned astonish- 
ment in her eyes; his expression caused her to 
shiver, as with sudden chill. Then inclined to 
laugh at herself for this sensation, suggested doubt- 
less by her imagination, she turned from him. 
'‘The garden is not what it once was,” she said, 
with a nod of farewell, “It is still beautiful, how- 
ever. I hope that you may enjoy it.” Clasping 
Rand’s hand in her own, they moved away, and 
walked to a more remote part of the garden where 
they took their seats upon a rustic bench. 

From the hives along the garden wall there came 
a low murmuring sound from the bees. Twice a 
jeweled-neck humming bird flitted by. Marjorie 
took no note of these things. She was both indig- 
nant and bewildered, and regardless of Rand’s 
questions, sat absorbed in thought. Why should 
Madame, with so scrutinizing a glance, have ques- 
tioned her in regard to a relation who bore a name 
similar to her own, and who also married a Wyn- 
gate? Certainly her family connections could in no 
way bear upon the work that she was expected to 
do for this elderly lady, who, to her surprise, she 
had found married to a young and attractive man. 
And now, the Baron d’Holbret, her employer’s hus- 
band. had questioned her somewhat oddly, she 
thought, though this might have been her fancy. 
While she seemed to have some vague memory in 
connection with him, certainly it did not justify 
his having sought her or having thought of her 
again. With an effort to dismiss the subject from 
her mind, she turned, smiling,to Rand, and unfold- 
ing a small parcel that for sometime had been ex- 
citing his interest, she disclosed slices of bread and 
butter, stuck together with a liberal supply of jam. 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


49 


‘‘Good little Mama !” Rand said, patting her 
cheek. 

“I think it was good Mammy this time; it was 
she who managed to get it for you. Since the 
Baron has come, you know, our famine has been 
followed by a feast.’' 

For several minutes they sat in silence, and then 
Rand sprang up with an exclamation. “See the big 
ant running over my bread! It acts as if it were 
crazy.” 

“Yes, it is crazy, Rand,” Marjorie replied ab- 
sently. “All ants that belong to this family lit- 
erally ‘lose their heads.’ ” And then, following 
out her own scheme for Rand’s entertainment and 
education, and knowing perfectly well that the 
child had called her attention to the ant for the 
story he might hear of it, she drew him down be- 
side her and began: 

“There is a little fly in the world called the 
a-po-ceph-elus, that, following its curious instinct, 
pursues the ant until it succeeds at last in laying 
its egg on the ant’s neck. When the egg hatches 
out, the maggot gradually eats the ant’s brain, 
while its poor victim, crazy with pain, runs about 
striking its head just as you see it doing now, until 
at last the head drops off, and the wretched little 
fly looks out for the first time at the world. Oh! 
she exclaimed, suddenly looking up, “something 
must have happened at the house. See, there is 
Mammy !” 

Coming down the garden walk they saw Mam- 
my’s turbaned head, bobbing like a big red poppy, 
as she almost ran toward them. 


50 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


CHAPTER IX 

On reaching the house, Marjorie found that 
Madame d’Holbret, who was slightly lame, had 
fallen while coming down the steps that led from 
the side entrance of the house into the garden. A 
servant had been dispatched for a physician and a 
nurse. When the doctor arrived, Marjorie was sur- 
prised to recognize in him a plump genial looking 
little gentleman whom she had several times en- 
countered on her walks to and from the postoffice. 

The Baron d’Holbret, who had stood by his 
wife’s bedside counting, with apparent anxiety, her 
pulse beats and administering a restorative, walked 
with the doctor to the end of the hall, and then 
returned to the side of his wife. 

“I can assure you,” Doctor Pell said emphati- 
cally, looking at Marjorie, ''the Baroness is not in 
the least danger, if she were I would tell ” 

"Oh, no. not me!” Marjorie replied hastily. "You 
would tell Baron d’Holbret.” 

"I see. I would tell my patient’s son — a thous- 
and pardons, her husband, the mistake is a nat- 
ural one — that his mo ahem, his wife will be 

up in ten days at most. In the meantime, she is 
likely to be feverish, and slightly delirious at times, 
and for this symptom I leave a powder.” 

The nurse held out her hand for the prescription, 
but the doctor apparently did not see. 

"There are times, Miss, ah, excuse me — Madam,” 
he said gloomily, handing the powder to Marjorie, 
"when I feel a hesitation in giving another pre- 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 51 

scription. I am convinced by my conscience of 
having summarily having cut olf from eternity so 
many of my fellow beings, and keeping them grop- 
ing in darkness here, when they might have as- 
cended to something better. It is true, one must 
take into consideration,'’ he went on solemnly, '‘the 
direction one’s patients, in case of dissolution, 
would be likely to take; and this being so, naturally 
we can take no chances. For myself,” Doctor Pell 
bowed gallantly to Marjorie, and sighed so deeply 
that his round, red face grew redder, “there are 
times when I feel that I have found heaven here 
upon earth. They are rare, though very rare.” 

“We are told that heaven lies within us,” Mar- 
jorie replied gravely, biting her lips to keep from 
smiling. 

The little doctor was evidently a character, and 
not so superficial as he seemed, for all the time that 
he was talking to Marjorie in an undertone, in this 
absurd way, she noticed how closely his keen eyes 
watched the Baron d’Holbret, as he stood by his 
wife’s bedside. His trim figure and beaming face 
were soon out of sight, and summoned by the nurse 
to take her place for a few moments, Marjorie went 
into the darkened room where the invalid lay with 
closed eyes on the great teestered bedstead that 
brought back so many memories df Marjorie’s 
childhood. 

She thought of the day when she had climbed up 
on it. and it had gone down with a crash, and of 
the cold winter nights, when she had crept into her 
grandmother’s room, and having climbed up the 
steps, had sunk down beside her in a nest of downy 
warmth. It was not these memories, however, but 
the face upon the pillow, the proud face, made 
more ghastly by the fresh scarlet hangings, but 


52 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


beautiful now that the scar was hidden, and made 
almost gentle by suffering — it was this that 
touched some inmost chord in her memory. This 
shadowy recollection, she felt in a vague way, had 
to do with a period when life had held a deeper 
meaning for her than when she had “played lady;'' 
a child playing upon the stage before the curtain 
was rolled up for the drama in which she was to 
take part. 

Madame d’Holbret suddenly opened her eyes, 
and the Baron, who stood not far off. hastened to 
her, arranging her pillows as she tossed from side 
to side, already feverish, as the doctor had ex- 
pected, and muttering to herself continually. Tak- 
ing one of her hands gently within his own, he 
stroked it with a motion that evidently held some 
hypnotic property, for it quickly brought sleep. 
She slept until there was a timid knock at the 
door. 

“Araminta !" Madame d’Holbret exclaimed, a 
grim smile upon her face. “Tell her, Francis, tell 
them all that not a bone has been broken in their 
cousin Charlotte's body, that she may be confined 
to her bed, and her wits wander for a few days, but 

that it will be years before they receive ” Her 

words trailed off. In her eyes there had come a 
cunning expression, and she laughed; while the 
Baron, leaning nearer to her, laughed also. 

“Do you know," she said, falling back upon her 
pillow, the feverish gleam returning to her eyes, 
“that my son has come back? He is a little boy. 
I watch him when he does not see me, playing in 
the garden. There is no one but the shadow, who 
always came between us, to care for him now." 

“Your son was a grown man, and he is dead, and 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


53 


cannot return to you/' the Baron said, firmly. 

“Do you mean to contradict me?" There was an 
imperious ring in his wife's voice, and she made 
an effort to rise to her feet. “I married you to 
care for the inheritance that was to come to my 
sons' son, and you are spending it all and tell me 
that he is dead. I tell you, Francis, my son is 
alive and he must come into his own. Part of it 
I deposited." 

“Yes, where did you deposit it?" her husband 
said eagerly, bending down close to the sick wo- 
man. 

Madame d'Holbret pressed her hand to her fore- 
head, but she could not remember, and the Baron, 
rising to his feet, walked to the window, wiping 
large beads of perspiration from his pale face. He 
stood, with his back turned, until the invalid, ap- 
parently coming back to her senses, complained 
that she could not sleep, when taking his seat 
again, he passed his hands before her eyes into 
which there gradually came a dazed expression, 
succeeded by unconsciousness. 

It was not until she had fallen into this pro- 
found sleep that he looked toward Marjorie, and 
then, glancing toward the sleeper, significantly 
touched his forehead. “She may be rational when 
she wakes," he said, “and until the nurse comes in, 
I shall remain with her." 

Acting upon this suggestion, Marjorie, who sat 
in the shadow, afraid, by word or sign to make her 
presence known, rose and stole softly from the 
room. 

She found the household already somewhat de- 
moralized, eating an early dinner, and indulging in 
unusual merriment. On the back gallery Mammy 
sat nodding in the sunshine, while Rand lay near. 


54 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


his head resting upon one arm, the other clasping 
closely to him a small black puppy that he had 
found upon the roadside and taken to his heart. 

Along one side of the gallery, extending the en- 
tire length of the house, there was a low bench, 
and Marjorie took her seat on this, thinking deeply. 
It seemed that Miss Araminta was a cousin of her 
employer, and that she had other relations who had 
expected to share property at her death that was 
all to go to the Baron d’Holbret. And yet — Mad- 
ame had a son. Where was he? Struggling some- 
where alone, while this man, who had married his 
mother, usurped his place? Or, was he the little 
boy of whom Rand reminded Madame, who, it 
might be, had died when a child? 

To Marjorie’s ears there came the faint swish of 
a scythe as the grass was cut upon the lawn. 
Near by, a hen invited her downy progeny, with 
loud clucking, to partake of a worm. From these 
things her eyes wandered to the green of the trees. 
The face of nature was as irresponsive to her ques- 
tion, however, as the Fate that we so often ques- 
tion, and would gladly escape. 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


55 


CHAPTER X 

‘^But, dearest, only g*irls don’t keep things in 
their pockets!” 

Not heeding Rand’s indignant protest, Marjorie 
was gravely divesting his pockets of a strange va- 
riety of objects: tops and marbles, bits of string, a 
head moulded of mud, and greatest treasure of all, 
a box containing a tiny tooth, the first he had lost, 
carefully wrapped up in one of her prettiest hand- 
kerchiefs. 

She had said to Mr. Bonnycastle that he must 
see Rand, and now a favorable opportunity had 
presented itself. Mammy, who rarely found it pos- 
sible to escape from her ironing table, had been 
peremptorily summoned by Baron d’Holbret and 
entrusted with a package of important papers, to be 
safely deposited in the village post-office. To per- 
form this errand, she would have to pass “Rob- 
in’s Roost,” and Marjorie had determined to send 
Rand with her in fulfillment of her promise. 

Rand’s toilet had ended with the act of vandal- 
ism above related, and now he stood, bright and 
shining, in his best linen suit, while Marjorie 
viewed him from all sides, at intervals giving him 
a kiss, or adding another touch to the large bow 
tied under his sailor collar. 

“You had better leave Rand at ‘Robin’s Roost,’ 
Mammy,” said Marjorie, “and call for him on your 
way back. Baron d’Holbret might think it strange 
if you staid too long.” 

The old v/oman’s face fell. “Ain’t I goin’ to see 


56 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


Marse Robin Bonnycastle, Miss Marjorie she 
asked, in a disappointed tone. 

“Of course you are, Mammy,’' replied Marjorie 
laughing, “and I know he will be glad to see you 
after all these years.” 

When Rand and Mammy had started on their 
way, she stood at the window, watching them 
across the sunlit lawn, Rand waving his cap with 
one hand, the other closely clasped by Mammy, 
who held her head high, her ample, well-starched 
skirts making a faint rustling noise highly gratify- 
ing to her, as she stepped briskly along. 

When they had passed through the iron gate, 
and were out of sight, Marjorie looked up into the 
sky, blue and flecked with tiny flakes of white. 
Her eyes rested here a moment, and then they 
came nearer to the earth and sought the garden, 
vivid with glowing color, from which a faint breath 
of air wafted a delicious aromatic fragrance. 

In reality, Marjorie’s eyes rested upon these fa- 
miliar surroundings with unseeing vision. She was 
looking into the garden of her soul, wherein 
bloomed an exquisite flower, purest white, with 
heart of gold. Of all the flowers in the garden, 
she knew that this alone would not perish, for it 
was maternal love. 

Rand and Mammy were soon standing before 
Mr. Bonnycastle’s front door, 

“I want to go in alone. Mammy,” said Rand, 
with childish dignity. 

“Bress your heart, run right along,” cried 
Mammy, with immense pride, as he slowly mounted 
the steps, feeling very important. He stood on 
tiptoe, and with a tremendous effort reached up to 
the large brass ring that hung from the dragon’s 
mouth. Although his knock was a faint one, the 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


57 


reverberation had hardly died away when Janet 
Markham opened the door, and nodding pleasantly 
to Mammy, joyfully ushered Rand into the hall. 
He followed her through a long corridor, closed 
with glass in winter, but forming now a shaded 
walk, with beautiful trees meeting in an arch over-* 
head. This led to a retreat in which Mr. Bonny- 
castle usually spent his morning hours. 

The room that they entered was really not a 
room, but a circular court. The walls, built high, 
were lined with bark from the white birch, and 
were of the softest tone imaginable, and in the long 
windows, through which one caught glimpses of 
the lawn, were masses of orchids, and other bloom- 
ing plants. The roof, now open to the sky, was 
formed by the spreading branches of a magnifi- 
cent tree, that rose from the center of the tesselated 
marble floor. 

Mr. Bonnycastle sat upon a rustic seat, the sun- 
shine that fell across his chair giving his face and 
snowy locks an effect almost dazzling. He was 
coaxing one of the many bright-colored birds that 
flew about him to his finger, and was so absorbed 
that he did not hear footsteps, but looked up sud- 
denly to see a little boy standing beside him, re- 
garding him with grave interest. 

“Rand !” Mr. Bonnycastle exclaimed brightly, ris- 
ing quickly to his feet, ‘T am very glad to see 
you.'' 

“How did you know my name?” inquired Rand, 
in astonishment. 

“I think because you look so like your mother,” 
replied Mr. Bonnycastle. “I hope she is quite 
well.” 

Janet Markham had brought in a small chair for 


58 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


Rand, which Mr. Bonnycastle now drew close to 
his side. 

“Yes, she is well,^' said Rand, as he sat down, 
“and she sent you a message. She said she is 
coming to see you soon, and the rooster with his 
leg in a. splint is getting better.” 

“Poor old fellow, he will be glad to walk like 
the other roosters again,” answered Mr. Bonny- 
castle, with due gravity. 

“My mother says,” Rand went on, “that you 
knew her when she was a little girl. You must 
be very ol ” 

He suddenly remembered that his mother had 
told him it was not polite to talk about people’s 
ages, and that to ladies, especially, this was a dis- 
agreeable subject. Mr. Bonnycastle was not a 
lady, but he might be sensitive. Rand felt badly 
until he was reassured by Mr. Bonnycastle’s 
hearty laugh. 

“You thought I must be very old? Why, Rand, 
I am not old at all. Sometimes I feel that I am 
still a little boy like you.” 

As Rand was pondering this surprising asser- 
tion, a green paroquet that had been perching on 
his finger flew up, and to the child’s delight, found 
a resting place on his shoulder. 

“Did you ever hear of Peter Pan, Rand, the little 
boy that would not grow up?” 

“Did he have a mother?” Rand inquired at 
once. 

“Yes, I am sure that he did, for I remember 
that when he would have returned to her at night, 
it was lock-out time, and he could not get back.” 

“He should have grown up so that he could take 
care of his mother,” Rand said thoughtfully, his 
head now very near to Mr. Bonnycastle’s shoulder. 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 59 

'‘That is what I am trying to do, to grow into a 
man, so I can take care of my mother. You see,’' 
Rand raised innocent eyes to his companion’s face, 
are not at all anxious to marry” 

Rand’s tone was so exactly like Marjorie’s as he 
had made his unexpected statement that Mr. Bon- 
nycastle would have laughed had he not felt the 
small hand slipped confidingly into his own. Real- 
izing that this was a moment that might make or 
mar a friendship, he did not smile. 

“Your mother and yourself might not like the 
same person, you know.” 

“Oh, we always think alike!” the child replied 
confidently. “We should be sorry, though, if we 
had to do like Danny, who used to wait on Mrs. 
Clay’s table, you know? He is paralyzed, and he 
said he had to marry a strong-armed lady, who 
could take in washing, and take care of him.” 

“You think your mother might not find such a 
marriage congenial?” Mr. Bonnycastle suggested, 
with a slight twinkle in his eye. 

Rand nodded his head in reply. He felt that he 
was understood. “Mrs. Clay says that I am to 
fight my mother’s battles. I knew that before, 
though,” with an air of determination. “A person 
can’t do anything well unless they practice, you 
know,” Rands’ tone was becoming a little doubt- 
ful, “and Uncle Danny has a boy not much larger 
than I am. He provokes me so, I get very angry 
and my mother says, it isn’t much worse to fight 
than to think hard thoughts.” 

“She is right, Rand!” Mr. Bonnycastle replied 
quickly, looking into the clear, intelligent eyes of 
the little boy and feeling sure that he would under- 
stand. Our thoughts are our real companions and 
we must be very careful how we choose them. We 


60 


A Master of the inner court 


can make of our minds an inner court, where we 
receive royal personages. I mean noble and beau- 
tiful thoughts, or else by thinking mean, false or 
cruel things, descend into a base and low strata of 
society.^’ 

“I think I hear Mammy coming along the corri- 
dor,’’ Rand exclaimed, after a few minutes of 
thoughtful silence. 

Mr. Bonnycastle looked up to see an old colored 
woman bowing in the doorway, until her tur- 
baned head almost touched the floor. 

“You are looking well. Mammy,'’ he said kindly. 
“It is many years since I have seen you, and yet 
you have changed very little.” 

Mammy’s eyes kindled. 

“Thankee kindly, Marse Robin Bonnycastle, I 
shorely is well, ’ceptin’ for a kind o’ misery in my 
haid. No, sir, I ain’ change, mebbe, but mos* 
everythin ’else at the 'Shelter’ has, I reckon.” 

“It’s not much like the old days there, is it?’^ 
said Mr. Bonnycastle, sympathetically. 

“No, sir. it sure am not! Marse Robin.” Mammy 
was evidently excited about something “just now I 
carried some papers down to the post-office for the 
madam, and the man said he would send them as 
second-class mail. ‘No, sir,’ I tole him, ‘I won’t 
have no second-class mail go out’n a house whar 
my ole mistis, Mrs. Randolph, usetr live. But dat 
man just laffed at me and done took the pack- 
age !” 

“Never mind. Mammy, they will go quickly,” 
was the reassuring reply. “He meant that they 
would not need so many stamps as letters, that’s 
all.” 

“Why didn’t he say so, then?” said Mammy, still 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


61 


indignant over the supposed slight to ''the family/’ 
"Pore white trash don’t know nothin’.” 

The green paroquet had flown to the other end 
of the court, and Rand hurried away in pursuit 
of it. 

"Marse Robin,” said Mammy, in a hoarse whis- 
per, and in her small bright eyes fixed on his face 
there was an expression of keen inquiry, "Do you 
know that foreigner that is married to the Mad- 
ame?” 

"No, Mammy, I have never met him.” 

"I know him right enuf!” Mammy nodded her 
head impressively, "He done cunjur dat Madam,” 
she paused, and an anxious expression came into 
her wrinkled countenance. "He couldn’ cunjur 
Miss Marjorie, could he, Marse Robin?” she asked 
eagerly. 

"No, Mammy, he will never do that,” said Mr. 
Bonnycastle, with emphasis. 

"Jus’ the same, she get cold every time he come 
near her,” declared Mammy obstinately. "There’s 
sumpin’ creepy about dat man. I never has liked 
him.” 

Mr. Bonnycastle was more interested than he 
cared to show, but asked no questions, for Rand 
was now standing beside him, the paroquet bal- 
ancing on his shoulder. 

"I have had a very nice visit, but I expect we 
will have to go now,” said the little boy politely. 

"Present my compliments to your mother, Rand, 
and tell her I have enjoyed seeing you very much,” 
Mr. Bonnycastle’s tone could not have been more 
ceremonious, if he had been addressing royalty. 

Then turning to Mammy, he said in a kindly 
way: "Don’t worry, Mammy, Miss Marjorie will 


62 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


always be protected. Rand here will tell you that, 
w^on't you, my boy?’* 

Stooping, he kissed the child on his broad fore- 
head, as if moved by a sudden impulse of deep 
affection. 

Mammy looked up earnestly into his face. 
"‘Seems like when folks come roun’ where you is 
day feels better, Marse Robin,” she said grate- 
fully. . j • 

Mr. Bonnycastle looked at her without speak- 
ing, and then his face suddenly lighted with a ra- 
diant smile. 

Mammy courtesied low, and followed Rand to 
the door. As they left the house, they saw Mr. 
Bonnycastle at the window, smiling and waving at 
them, just as Marjorie had done a short time 
before. 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


63 


CHAPTER XI 

Perfect quiet prevailed at the “Shelter/' The 
midday sun scintilated through the green leaves of 
the trees, and in the garden wilted the flowers into 
languor with its burning kiss. 

Only near the fountain there was a refreshing 
breath, for where the statue of the Satyr had once 
rested, there again ascended in the air, and down 
again, a sparkling spray of water with a cooling 
splash in the basin. 

In the darkened house the invalid lay in her 
room, with open door — past which the household 
came on tiptoe and with bated breath. 

The quiet had been like this on many midsum- 
mer afternoons that Marjorie remembered — her 
grandmother asleep in the darkened parlor, while 
old Mammy nodded in her chair on the back porch, 
and the shadow finger crept around the dial. 

To Rand there was a lonesomeness about it such 
as he had noticed creeping through the house after 
he went to bed when Mammy snuffed out the can- 
dle and left him in the dark waiting for his mother 
to come upstairs. This feeling did not come often 
in the daytime, however, and he was glad when his 
mother received permission to go in search of a 
book that she found necessary in her appointed 
task of research. Baron d’Holbret, the “invisible 
eye," that looking through the open door of the 
sick room, rested upon the household — sent the 
message, and Marjorie, delighted to escape from 
the espionage of this “invisible eye," decided to go 


64 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


over to “Rattle and Snap” and visit Mrs. Clay. 
She had not seen her old friend for a long time, be- 
side .in Mr. Clay’s fine library, the only thing left 
of their once great wealth, she felt sure that she 
would find the book required. 

Much to the disappointment of Rand, he found 
that his mother and himself were not to take their 
walk alone. As they left the house, they were 
joined by the new master of the “Shelter,” whose 
overtures to the little boy were received with a dis- 
tant demeanor. Marjorie would have much pre- 
ferred also going alone with Rand, but she felt 
that she could offer no reasonable objection to the 
husband of her employer walking with her. Baron 
d’Holbret evidently did not take into consideration 
the mental attitude of either Marjorie or Rand. 
He was only considering his own, which was de- 
cidedly in favor of escaping from the darkened 
sick room where he had spent so many unpleas- 
ant hours, and of walking with Marjorie to her 
destination, wherever that might be. 

Neither spoke until there was a gleam through 
the trees of the fluted white columns of Mrs. Clay’s 
colonial home. 

“I am struck with the beauty of the old houses 
here,” the Baron declared. “I have never seen any- 
thing to equal them in this country. I suppose 
they are the remains of ante-bellum days?” 

“Many of them are of historic interest,” replied 
Marjorie. “Mrs. Clay’s grandfather was an officer 
on General Washington’s staff. He was a sur- 
veyor, and received from the Government in pay- 
ment, land in his native state, then called Franklin. 
To each of his five sons he gave a magnificent es- 
tate, with houses built by workmen sent from a co- 
lonial state. ‘Rattle and Snap,’ however, was lo- 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 65 

cated with script won in a wager on a game pop- 
ular at that time. It was played with beans and 
called by this name, ‘Rattle and Snap.’ ” 

“Is it possible that this game has deteriorated 
into what the darkies call ‘craps’?” the Baron in- 
quired smiling. 

“No, I think not. It is more probable that it 
has been dignified, as you may consider it, into the 
game called poker.” 

“A most amusing game, and one at which an un- 
lucky player can lose more money than he can af- 
ford !” declared the Baron, a little ruefully. “May 
I smoke?” he continued, turning to Marjorie, and 
taking out a silver match safe that brought to her 
some sense of recollection. 

As she looked at her companion, and noted his 
unusual height, his handsome head, and slightly 
sarcastic smile, she was struck for the first time 
with his personality, one, she decided that might 
invite admiration, but would not establish confi- 
dence. 

“If Madame will pardon my being a little per- 
sonal,” the Baron said, striking a light, “I have de- 
cided that she is entirely lacking in one feminine 
characteristic.” 

“If you mean curiosity, I have never seen any 
reason to consider that a feminine prerogative !” 

“It is a trait implanted by Nature in the femin- 
ine breast, so that the humble male may occasion- 
ally excite sufficient interest to receive recognition. 
I intimated that I had seen you before and yet you 
have asked no question.” 

“I consider it simply a case of mistaken iden- 
tity !” 

“Then, you are wrong.” Baron d’Holbret stopped 
and flicked from his coatsleeve a small deposit of 


66 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


white ashes that had fallen from his cigar. '‘If it 
interests you at all, I will inform you that you were 
surrounded by the elite of the city on the occasion 
to which I refer.'" 

"I still hold to my original idea. You have cer- 
tainly mistaken me for someone else." 

"Ce n’est pas possible. I have never known any 
one at all like you, Madame." 

"As for the people by whom I was surrounded, 
and whom you describe as the 'elite,' " continued 
Marjorie hurriedly, "perhaps you think I should 
feel flattered by such a description of my compan- 
ions, but I do not admit that I am." 

"That is a most cruel and ungracious speech, 
and requires an explanation. Are you not becom- 
ing even a little bit curious?" 

"No, not in the least." 

"Then I must keep the time and the place to my- 
self, as a charming recollection," he smiled enig- 
matically. "But I am still waiting for your ex- 
planation." 

"That I can very easily give you," said Marjo- 
rie smiling, "I meant that very likely you and I 
have a very different idea of what constitutes the 
best society." 

"Do not think that I mean to cast any reflection 
upon your choice of an environment," he contin- 
ued. 

"This environment is not my choice," said Mar- 
jorie with decision. "Circumstances have brought 
it about, and so I am here." 

"Then you do not believe in those forces through 
which we can make our own circumstances and 
environments?" 

"I am not prepared to discuss so weighty a ques- 
tion," replied Marjorie lightly. 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


67 


*‘Not with all the wisdom you have absorbed in 
my wife’s library and that of Mr. Clay? Surely, I 
have seen you poring over very scholarly looking 
volumes.” 

“I have found much to interest me in both libra- 
ries,” Marjorie acknowledged. "‘I am greatly at- 
tracted by the natural sciences which I have taken 
upon Rand’s account.” 

“Shall you teach him to believe in evolution?” 

Marjorie simply smiled at the Baron’s interest in 
Rand’s education. 

“Speaking of the natural sciences,” he continued, 
“have you observed that the great scientists are 
turning their thoughts more and more to the inves- 
tigation of psychic forces, and their bearing upon 
human life?” 

“Yes,” answered Marjorie, interested in spite of 
herself, “and it is a sign of the times.” 

“The greatest thinkers,” the Baron went on, as 
if she had not spoken, “do not disdain to investi- 
gate the phenomena of spiritualism, hypnotism and 
other subjects which were formerly dismissed as 
mere trickery.” 

“I have never liked the idea of hypnotic sugges- 
tions,” declared Marjorie. “I feel that it interferes 
with personal freedom, and so has a sinister side 
that is unpleasant to me.” 

Baron d’Holbret looked at her keenly. The sug- 
gestion of the animal that derogated from his intel- 
lectual dignity and also that of craft had given way 
to feeling. He seemed more human and appealing 
than Marjorie had yet seen. It was but for a mo- 
ment, however, and then he shrugged his shoulders. 

“I see that you have made good use of your time 
at all events,” he said. “Is it presuming to say that 


68 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


SO lovely a woman as Mrs. Wyngate should not 
think so much?” 

Then seeing that Marjorie was slightly dis- 
pleased by this personal comment, he continued: 
“Perhaps we can discuss these subjects another 
day. I am told that Mr. Robin Bonnycastle is 
deeply versed in occult lore, and that all his neigh- 
bors stand in awe of his attainments.” 

They were almost at the end of their walk, and 
now turned at an exclamation from Rand. On a 
piece of wood that he held, a wasp had lighted on 
a caterpillar and was slowly stinging its victim into 
unconsciousness. 

“My mother can tell you just what the wasp is 
doing,” Rand declared. “Tell him. Mama.” 

“I suspect that there is not much that ‘my moth- 
er’ does not know,” said the Baron, smiling. 

“I think that she knows pretty nearly every- 
thing,” remarked Rand indulgently. 

“Someone has said that a child is ‘a genius with- 
out capacity,’ ” said Baron d’Holbret. “They seem 
to have an intuition for the realities of life and 
character not always possessed by their elders. 
You will see with what vast respect I shall treat 
Rand, Mrs. Wyngate. I feel that before his large 
and innocent eyes all the dark deeds of my life may 
be uncovered.” 

He smiled as he spoke, as if it were half in jest, 
but Marjorie detected an undercurrent of serious- 
ness in his tone. Rand, who had been engrossed 
with the wasp, looked up quickly, but said nothing. 

“You see,” Marjorie blushed faintly, as she ig- 
nored Baron d’Holbret’s comment, “Rand and I are 
fond of natural history and are now becoming ac- 
quainted with some of the birds and insects of 
which before we have only read.” She bent down 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


69 


to the child who was watching intently the bit of 
natural history being enacted before him. 

See, Rand,” she said eagerly, “there is only one 
spot where the caterpillar can be stung, and the 
wasp has found it. By and by it will be dragged 
into the tiny crevice that is to be its future nursery. 
This it will carefully seal, and when the little 
wasps hatch out they will find their daily food al- 
ready provided for them in the body of the unfor- 
tunate caterpillar. The wasp is too careful a 
mother, however, to have provided anything but 
pleasant food for her little wasps, for the caterpil- 
lar has been merely stung into unconsciousness, 
and when the little fellows are ready to eat, the 
caterpillar will be hardly more than freshly slain.” 

“That interests me very much,” declared the 
Baron, who, indeed, seemed to be fascinated by 
the proceedings of the wasp. “After all, the lower 
orders of creation have their prototypes in those 
above them. The wasp is in his way a symbol. A 
cannibal, yes ; but so are some men. Certainly in 
the business world. You have provided me with 
food for reflection, and perhaps have given me an 
idea.” 

“Speaking of the lower orders of creation,” Mar- 
jorie went on quietly, “one thing has made me res- 
pect the religious beliefs of the East : the greater 
humanity that they teach for animals. It is only in 
the Christian world that it is necessary to form 
‘Humane Societies’ to protect the brute from the 
greater brute.” 

“Is not this consideration the result of a belief 
that the soul of an ancestress may look from the 
green eyes of a cat? Did you ever speculate as to 
what animal form you may have inhabited in a 
former incarnation?” 


70 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


**1 think I was a dog, a fine bird dog,” Marjorie 
said, waving her hand to Mrs. Clay, who saw them 
from the garden. 

^‘And I?” 

Marjorie regarded him critically. 

“You were probably a fox. A handsome silver 
gray fox,” she said reflectively. 

“The dog runs the fox to cover,” Baron d’Hol- 
bret raised his eyebrows whimsically. 

“In this instance the dog would be very sorry to 
enter a race with so experienced and crafty a rey- 
nard,” Marjorie said quickly. 

As she spoke, Baron d’Holbret turned suddenly 
and regarded her so fixedly that Marjorie felt the 
same sensation of chill that she remembered to 
have experienced in the garden. Before she had re- 
covered from her surprise, he had lifted his hat 
and left them standing at Mrs. Clay’s door. 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


71 


CHAPTER XII 

Mrs. Clay, having finished her morning task, still 
lingered in the garden, fanning her flushed cheeks 
with a large garden hat. Not here, as at the ''Shel- 
ter,’^ were the beds filled with rare roses, and 
bright hued poppies; or trim walks bordered with 
box. A hedge of crepe myrtle surrounded the gar- 
den, and from this border of purplish pink, the eye 
sank to a level of long straight rows of vegetables. 
Near Mrs. Clay her small name sake, Katharyn, 
dug in the soft earth, making a miniature garden, 
and a little farther on the head gardener from 
“Robin’s Roost,” Andrew Markham, stood tying 
into small parcels, mint, parsley, thyme, and sage, 
to be shipped with the vegetables to the nearest 
market. 

Andrew, on account of his long service and in- 
tegrity, was regarded by the family, more as a 
friend than as an employee. Each morning he came 
over to assist Mrs. Clay, bringing a message or 
some delicacy from Mr. Bonnycastle, and on the 
way he frequently stopped to have a talk with 
Rand. 

As he now caught sight of Marjorie and Rand, 
he pushed back his cap, his fine, strong face light- 
ing up with pleasure. Mrs. Clay had finished her 
work with a sigh of relief, and having seen her vis- 
itors as they came through the lawn, she advanced 
toward them with extended hands. 

“How glad I am to see you both,” she cried. 
“Katharyn will be out presently, Rand. She is 


72 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


having a clean pinafore put on. The child was a 
sight ! I have a surprise for you, Marjorie. Prob- 
ably, though, you have heard?’' 

Marjorie shook her head. from your 

expression I should say that it was something of 
a very pleasant nature. Mr. Clay has walked down 
into the garden? No? The market man has sent 
you an unusually large check?” 

'‘You are not a good guesser. I will wager, how- 
ever, that in less than three hours you will be in- 
formed.” Mrs. Clay looked mischievous. 

“Dont’ be mysterious ! I am inclined to be a 
little elated myself this morning. The Baroness 
was brought downstairs in the arms of her hus- 
band, and became so amiable in consequence that 
she dispensed with my services for the rest of the 
day.” 

‘T am very glad, for I wish to have a talk with 
you, and if you do not object, we will wait here on 
the gallery until these things are sent off by Mr. 
Market Man.” 

Mrs. Clay smiled as she spoke, but in the bright 
light Marjorie noticed lines on her face that had 
never shown themselves before. 

“I shall be glad to have a moment’s rest. This 
marketing had to be attended to, although we have 
had more than one arrival this morning. Appoli- 
na’s mother-in-law — I think that she is going to 
stay,” Mrs. Clay spoke with sudden unction, “You 
know, one can never account for what an ‘in-law' 
will do ! The strain ” 

“Of keeping Appolina in check?” suggested Mar- 
jorie. “I know now, that was your surprise. I 
remember Appolina of old.” 

“I assure you,” Mrs. Clay replied nervously, “Ap- 
polina realizes how much depends upon this visit. 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


73 


She is doing away with various unfavorable re- 
ports, and I can see she has made a good impres- 
sion. Mrs. Blair is very strict in her ideas. You 
know,’’ she lowered her voice, “she is a lineal de- 
scendant of one of the Pilgrim Fathers, whose 
views she seems to have inherited.” 

“I have always been proud of my New England 
ancestry, but amused at the witticism ‘They first 
fell upon their knees, and then upon the aborigi- 
nes,’ ” quoted Marjorie, mischievously, “and Appo- 
lina is now figuring as the aborigines?” 

Mrs. Clay could not help smiling. “Never pity 
Appolina!” she exclaimed, shaking her head. “You 
see,” she continued, “this is Mrs. Blair’s first visit 
to her, so it would be delightful if things would go 
smoothly. She lives in retirement, and gives to 
several women’s clubs her patronage, for which 
they probably care very little, but doubtless a good 
deal for the liberal checks which accompany it. 
But this is not what is worrying me at present,” 
Mrs. Clay sighed, then tried to smile. “After I 
saw you last, Marjorie, Mr. Clay became quite ill, 
and in the midst of my solicitude about him. An- 
drew Markham brought me word that my brother 
had gone off on one of the mysterious journeys of 
which I have told you.” Mrs. Clay spoke slowly, 
but with a thoughtful and puzzled expression. 
“My brother has had remarkable results from some 
of his electrical experiments, but it was not until 
after a great sorrow that he developed powers that 
seem almost supernatural.” 

Mrs. Clay paused, and looked about her appre- 
hensively, as if fearing that this last statement 
might reach the ears of her orthodox guest. 

“I need not tell you, dear child, that Mr. Clay 
and I have always found our spiritual help in the 


74 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


services of the Church, and especially in the Holy 
Communion, which seems to us the highest form of 
worship. But Robin is so wonderful that his ways 
can never be our ways, and so we do not cavil at 
them, no matter how much they may differ from 
our own.” She spoke with deep earnestness, as 
always when speaking of her brother, and now that 
she had seen him Marjorie understood this far bet- 
ter than she had done before. 

There was a short pause, which Marjorie ended 
by saying: “How is Mr. Clay this morning?” 

“I left him walking about the room with Appo- 
lina,” replied Mrs. Clay. “I might be uneasy if old 
Caesar were not also in the room.” 

As Mrs. Clay finished speaking, there was a faint 
rustle of skirts on the gallery, and looking up, 
Marjorie recognized her old friend, Appolina. 

It struck Marjorie that the “sea green” color of 
her eyes was of a deeper shade than formerly. 
The thin white cotton gown that she wore, show- 
ing the perfection of her well-developed figure, was 
not whiter than her skin, and her nut brown hair 
looked ever more luxuriant than Marjorie remem- 
bered it. 

“You remember Marjorie, of course?” said Mrs. 
Clay. “How you two used to quarrel as children 
over who should play with Decimus !” 

“I did most of the quarreling,” said Appolina, 
frankly. “Decimus always liked Marjorie the best. 
I only hope that our last encounter has faded from 
her recollection, or I do not know whether she re- 
gards me as one of her dearest enemies, or one of 
her bitterest friends!” 

Marjorie smiled. 

“At all events, let us kiss and make up!” Appo- 
lina said, laughingly. “It is no news to you, of 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


75 


course, that Decimus is still mourning his lost 
hopes? Poor fellow, you certainly did treat him 
outrageously.” 

'‘I believe you have hidden him somewhere, Ap- 
polina,” laughed Marjorie, ‘‘for he has not been 
near me since I came here.” 

Appolina gave her a strange look. “Oh, Mother,” 
she cried suddenly, “I forgot to tell you that I had 
to shut Katharyn up in the closet just now. I cer- 
tainly hope her screams cannot be heard down- 
stairs ; goodness knows, they are loud enough. 
You see,” she turned to Marjorie, “it is only when 
my daughter is utterly exhausted that she appears 
to advantage, and at that favorable moment I wish 
to present her to her grandmother Blair. By the 
way, I am going to take my in-law for a walk in 
the garden presently. Aren't you all dying to 
come?” 

Marjorie shook her head. She much preferred 
paying a visit to Mr. Clay, with whom she was a 
great favorite, and went in search of him with 
Mrs. Clay. 

“I am so sorry you have been left alone so long, 
my dear Lucius,” said Mrs. Clay, as they entered 
his room. “Appolina is naturally a little upset.” 

“Appolina upset? Oh, yes, I remember, Mrs. 
Blair is here,” he replied, in a tone implying that 
that explained everything. “I cannot tell you the 
pleasure it gives me to see you,” he continued, turn- 
ing to Marjorie with a courtliness that made the 
twenty years he had passed in dreary routine of 
chronic invalidism seem an impossibility. “Our 
little Appolina has been writing a paper to be read 
before a ‘Mother's Meeting,' and the effort that this 
required partially accounts for her absence of mind. 
That she should so far depart from tradition as to 


76 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


appear at a public meeting affects me much more 
deeply! Perhaps, you remember the charming de* 
scription that John Adams, our second President, 
gave of Dorothy Quincy, in writing to his wife in 
1775. ‘Among a hundred men, almost at this 
house,’ the letter runs, ‘she lives and behaves with 
modesty, dignity, and discretion. She avoids talk- 
ing on politics; in large and mixed company she 
is totally silent, as a lady ought to be.’ If Andrew 
Markham can spare us a few sprigs of mint, my 
dear Marjorie, we will ask Mrs. Clay to make us 
a julep.” Mr. Clay, pleased with his description 
of what constituted ideal womanhood in the year 
1775, leaned back, smiling, with closed eyes, prob- 
ably in pleasant anticipation of the approaching 
julep. 

“My dear Lucius!” Mr. Clay opened his eyes, 
for there was slight asperity in his wifes’ tone. “I 
did not hear who was responsible for that quota- 
tion from American history. No one of importance, 
I hope. I have always thought of Dorothy Quincy 
as a woman of intelligence, and if such were the 
case, I can see no reason why she should have 
been relegated to the background, and commended 
because she did not open her lips in public. I 
certainly am not what you call a ‘new woman,’ 
but I rejoice that a woman is now supposed to 
converse with her male friends and relatives on the 
same plane of intelligence. However, something 
of more importance presents itself now ! Do you 
not think we had better delay the julep?” Mrs. 
Clay gave her husband a little propitiatory pat. 
“You see, Appolina’s ‘in-law’ will return from the 
garden in a few minutes, and Mrs. Blair has preju- 
dices! We must not in any way endanger our dear 
child’s future.” 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


77 


CHAPTER XIII 

When Andrew Markham brought up the mint 
for the julep, he stood silent for a few moments, 
his cap in his hand. 

‘T hae gi’ed Rand a colt. Mistress Wyngate,” he 
said respectfully, “an’ as ye pass down by the pais- 
ture ye may care to hae a luke at him.” 

Marjorie gladly assented, and after she had made 
her adieux, followed by Rand, who had never left 
the Scotchman’s side, they walked through the gar- 
den on their way to the pasture. 

Andrew was about to let down the bars, over 
which Rand in his eagerness had already climbed. 

“No, let the horses come to us, Andrew,” said 
Marjorie. “Mrs. Clay always calls them from the 
pasture, and I love to see them. Perhaps the colt 
may be timid, too, Rand, and run away from you.” 

“Except a few Jersey coos, and the mare, ‘Bonny 
Kate, we are nae needin’ bluided stock on a veege- 
table fairm,” Andrew said, drawing attention to 
Mrs. Clay’s blooded mare. “See, laddie, there is 
the colt!” 

“He is almost a grown horse and such a beauty !” 
Marjorie exclaimed. 

“Weel, weel, he has gude bluid, an’ when he 
grows to his laigs he ’ill be a hansom’ beastie.” 

“But, Andrew,” protested Mariorje, “he is so 
valuable, I do not see how we can accept him I” 
Then with the tightening of the throat that she al- 
ways felt when anyone was kind to Rand, “Why 
are you so good to my boy?” 


78 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


'‘Rand is a lad o' pairts, Mistress Wyngate, and 
he ha' nae feyther, nor brither, an' nae hame. 
Only a braw wee mither to stan' up for him against 
the warld, an 'if an old Scotchman wi' nae bairn o' 
his own chuses to gi' him a colt, surely it is his 
own affair!" 

“Look how he runs, Mama!" cried Rand, clap- 
ping his hands. 

“He ran across the pasture as if he had been 
shot from a gun," Marjorie replied. “So, if it 
pleases Rand, we will call him Bullet." 

“Bullet, Bullet, do you know that is your name?" 
called Rand, wild with delight. 

The colt kicked up his heels in such an awkward 
way that both Rand and Marjorie began to laugh 
heartily. Presently he began to graze, as uncon- 
cernedly as if no such things as human beings ex- 
isted. 

“When Meester Bonnycastle gangs awa' as he 
talks of daein', maybe Rand and I can gae to the 
fairm, and he can ride Bullet himsel'. I must gang 
my gait the noo ! I hae an idea that Rand will be 
aroun' the morn to see the beastie." 

There was a twinkle in the Scotchmans' eye as 
he doffed his cap. and strode off toward “Robin's 
Roost," while Marjorie and Rand, in an animated 
discussion concerning the attributes and perfections 
of Bullet, proceeded gaily toward the woods. 

Rand's joy over the colt had completely banished 
from Marjorie's mind all thought of her late ex- 
periences at the Clay's, and she and Rand were as 
carefree and unconcerned as Bullet himself. The 
day was one of serene beauty and brilliant sun- 
shine, the whole of nature seeming to be in holiday 
dress. 

From the trees above them came the notes of 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 79 

birds carolling of nests and mating, of their lives 
hidden from human view in that trembling world 
of semi-lucent leaves. 

Two or three times they stopped to listen, and 
then continued their walk to the shade of a great 
tree. 

Here Marjorie opened a basket that Mrs. Clay 
had placed in her hands as she left the house. Be- 
neath the snowy napkin there were slices of bread 
stuck togther with golden butter and preserves. 
Next she lifted from the basket a box filled with 
pieces of chicken, with crisp corn cakes fried to a 
delicate brown. 

As they ate seated on the root of a tree, a squir- 
rel, his cheek full of nuts, peeped excitedly at them 
from time to time, until it finally scampered to 
safety around the bole of the tree. 

As a wonderful blue butterfly flitted past, Rand 
ran off in pursuit, and Marjorie went in search of 
a spring. It was some time before she found it, 
hidden in a clump of undergrowth, and kneeling 
down, she took a long, deep draught. How cold 
and limpid, how delicious it was! And yet — hid- 
den away from mortal eyes, how useless ! 

In answer to her thought there was a flutter of 
wings, and a bird, lighting on the brim, dipped its 
beak into the spring, and soon after she saw the 
eyes of some small shy animal shining at her from 
the underbrush, as it crept stealthily toward the 
spring. And, even yet, the little spring may not 
have fulfilled its mission. Who knows the outcome 
of any humble life? 

Marjorie looked again into the water. She was 
still young, and here she looked even younger, al- 
most a child ! Her cheeks were flushed, and escap- 
ing from the hair pins that held it, her hair hung 


80 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


in curling locks to her waist. Smiling back at her 
image, she repeated softly: *'As in water face an- 
swereth face.” In the stillness her voice seemed to 
come back. She stopped to listen to a happy laugh 
from Rand, and then throwing her arm around a 
sapling that formed a part of the thicket, she bent 
down nearer to the water. 

A shadow — growing larger until it took the form 
of a man, darkened the face of the pool. 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


81 


CHAPTER XIV 

“Decimus!” Marjorie cried. *‘How you startled 
me!” 

Decimus drew Marjorie to him across the little 
spring, and walking together toward a great oak 
they found refuge from the noonday sun, beneath 
its sheltering branches. 

Decimus still held Marjorie’s hand in his strong 
grasp — his warm brown eyes sought her own. 
‘'How many years, little girl, it has been ” 

“If you will return my hand. Big Man, we might 
count them,” Marjorie replied, mischievously. “At 
any rate, we are neither of us yet very infirm!'' 

“The thought suggests itself to me that some- 
thing beside a cold handshake would be admissible 
between people who were early playmates!” 

“And regarded each other with a brotherly and 
sisterly affection,” Marjorie interposed demurely. 

Decimus threw back his head with a laugh, and 
having made Marjorie comfortable, now stretched 
his long limbs and leaned back against the bole of 
the tree before he replied: “When we count time 
by heartbeats it may seem very long,” he at last 
said gravely. “To me it has seemed an eternity 
since I saw you last. In reality, I suppose, not 
much more than ten years has gone by since I car- 
ried your books to school and fought your battles, 
that is, the other little boys who also wanted to go 
along. Later, there were big boys who wanted to 
carry them. You never seemed to care, I often won- 
dered why there were so many?” 


82 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


“Probably nature provides a woman with a great 
many lovers so that in the end she will be certain 
to get a husband,” Marjorie replied, laughing. ^ 

“How could I have ever thought” — Decimus 
spoke with slight bitterness — “that I should be the 
fortunate one who would win you? Just before 
matriculating at college, I heard that you were to 
marry Lawrence Wyngate. I then fought with 
myself a fiercer battle than ever before waged in 
your cause. Nothing now seemed worth while, 
and in this mood my uncle Robin Bonnycastle ad- 
vised me to travel.” 

“Mr. Bonnycastle is not a man, he is already, I 
think, a glorified spirit!” Marjorie exclaimed. “Tell 
me about the places you visited.” 

“At first,” Decimus hesitated, “you see I was 
only a boy, Marjorie, and I was very angry with 
you, for although you had given me no reason to 
think so — I did believe you cared a little for me, 
and I thought you might have written to me. My 
impulse was to vent my brute rage on other brutes. 
You know I am something of a shot, and I decided 
to go out to Africa and shoot big game. I stopped 
at Nariobe, near me was the Juja farm owned by 
Mr. McMillan, a wealthy St. Louisan. A wonder- 
ful place! On my return home from Africa, I 
found myself again restless, and went out West 
where I stayed until rapidly getting into the con- 
dition of the famous 'Mugwi’ Mr. Kipling tells us 
about in one of his stories, that being brought for 
the first time into civilization, had to go out on 
the boat deck and give forth terrible roars to re- 
lieve his feelings. I felt it encumbent upon me to 
return.” 

“And now?” Marjorie in her interest drew nearer 
to Decimus. 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 83 

“Oh, now, I am hard at work trying to make 
up for lost time,” Decimus replied. “I am actuated 
by a very strong motive. Indeed, I have but one 
object in life. Do you know what that is, Mar- 
jorie?” Decimus’ hand closed more closely over 
Marjorie’s. “My aunt has been telling me some- 
thing of your life here in your old home with this 
foreign nobleman and his wife, who iniquitously 
bought it in. I want you to give your life in my 
keeping and let me take you away from here. My 
one object now is to please you, and to please 
Rand” Decimus threw back his big shoulders with 
a laugh. “When one storms a citadel you know, 
they must find its weakest point.” 

“And would you give up the fortune that will be 
yours if you remain a celibate?” Marjorie asked, in 
a low voice. 

“Fortune? nonsense! Do you suppose I would 
give up the only woman I ever loved for a for- 
tune. That is, if I can win her,” Decimus ex- 
claimed. “I was reading a little romance the other 
day that reminds me somewhat of your case and 
mine. It speaks of the tide in human emotions 
that are as recurrent and as faithful to the ages as 
the seasons of Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Win- 
ter in nature. There is a return of the tide as 
surely as the harvest follows the sowing of the 
grain. Since you would not give me a place in 
the springtime of your life, Marjorie, will you not 
give me it’s Summer? Your life — ” 

“My life,” interposed Marjorie quickly, “has been 
a great joy, a great sorrow, and then a wonderful 
treasure that came out of it. I have given my life 
to my boy, Decimus. Here comes Rand now!” 

Rand, flushed and happy, came running toward 


84 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


them, holding something up in his small closed 
hand. 

“That last butterfly turned into a leaf, Mama,” 
he cried. And then, having been introduced to 
Decimus, Rand left his small disengaged hand in 
Decimus’ large one, which argued well for their 
future friendship. 

“Did you know, Mr. Clay,” he asked, “that but- 
terflies sometimes escape their enemies by pretend- 
ing that they are leaves?” 

“Insects and sometimes reptiles also make them- 
selves resemble flowers to escape their enemies, 
and also to capture them, Rand,” Decimus said, 
drawing the little boy down by him. “I saw some- 
thing of the kind lately. Uncle Robin has a plan- 
tation across the river from the western part of 
the state, that I have under my care. By the way, 
the old Scotchman, Andrew Markham, has a 
Tairm' near by. I was walking through the swamp 
when I noticed a brilliant red flower. What at- 
tracted me to it was a number of insects that, after 
hovering over the flower for a short time, myste- 
riously disappeared. What do you think it was? 
A lizard ! The little wretch had only its head 
above the ground so that it looked exactly like a 
small, red flower that grows on the levee, and the 
insects, thinking that they were coming to the 
flower, came instead to the lizard’s mouth.” 

“I think you must know a great deal,” Rand said, 
regarding Decimus with grave approval. “Almost 
as much as my mother and Mr. Bonnycastle. Mr. 
Bonnycastle is still a little boy; are you a little 
boy, too?” 

“Yes, I am a little boy who is going to grow 
into a giant,” Decimus replied, rising that he might 
impress Rand with his six feet of length. “I 


A master of the inner court 85 

haven’t any use for grown-ups. Every man and 
woman who are worth while are still little boys and 
girls, who enjoy the simple things in life, and scorn 
the artificial ones. There is your mother ! She 
never will be a ‘grown-up/ I wager now she often 
plays ‘chick-a-macrany crow,’ and ‘puss in the cor- 
ner’ with you. I could tell you a great many things 
about her when she was little” — Marjorie held up 
a warning finger — “she could make me do any- 
thing she wished, she has often made me bite the 
dust, and now I am going to bite it for you.” 

Taking a small round peg that he had been care- 
fully whittling, Decimus buried it in the ground 
and then, leaning down, after several tugs he drew 
it up, held firmly between his white teeth. 

“He mumbled the peg!” Rand cried ecstatically, 

“There are times when I really love you, Deci- 
mus I” Marjorie exclaimed. 

“Not as a brother! Anything but that,” Deci- 
mus shook his head lugubriously, “There is some- 
thing, Marjorie, Decimus continued gravely, put- 
ting up his hand to a lock of hair that Marjorie re- 
membered in past years always stood up rebel- 
liously when Decimus was disturbed by any emo- 
tion. “I would like to know something of this 
French baron.” 

“Not now,” Marjorie replied, impulsively. “See, 
the shadows are lengthening. We must hurry! 
You know I do not return now to the home of my 
grandmother, but to that of a stranger, in whose 
employ I am. Listen, do you not hear someone 
talking?” Peering through the great oaks under 
which they now rapidly walked, they saw two fig- 
ures seated near together beneath one of the trees. 

“Do you know who they are?” 


86 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


Marjorie clutched the arm of Decimus. *'It is 
Baron d’Holbert, and Appolina!'' 

“Do you mean Madame d'Holbret^s husband? 
Why should he be with Appolina?” Decimus asked 
slowly. “My aunt tells me that he comes over 
every day. If Appolina were my sister, or my 
sweetheart ” 

“She is very near kin!” Marjorie suggested. 

“Yes, my double cousin,” Decimus replied, with 
some reluctance, “so the relationship is very near. 
It is difficult to realize, however, that Appolina can 
be the daughter of my uncle and aunt. With their 
pride in ancestry, their love of tradition, and high 
ideals, Baron d’Holbret had better be careful. He 
should be especially careful in his own household 1” 
There was menace in Decimus’ tone. 

They had reached the door of the “Shelter,” and 
after a hasty handshake, and promise that she 
would see Decimus the next day. Marjorie hurried 
up to the room of Madame d’Holbret, the stern 
arbiter of her present fate. 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


87 


CHAPTER XV 

With Marjorie, Decimus had taken Rand into 
his heart, and for two weeks the trio spent a part 
of each day in the woods together; seated beneath 
the great trees, or sometimes fishing by the banks 
of a beautiful stream that brought to Decimus and 
Marjorie many reminiscences of their childhood, 
over which they laughed. And now Decimus^ visit 
had come to a close. He was to leave on the next 
day, and Marjorie had promised him that she 
would be up to see him start on his way. The Sep- 
tember nights were oppressive, and made restless 
by the heat, she rose at dawn and kneeling down 
by the low window, looked out at the approaching 
day. In the sky fleecy clouds floated across the 
heavens, the stars had faded out, and the glow of 
orange light in the East had deepened into banks 
of glowing crimson. Rand rested peacefully. Mar- 
jorie leaned over and kissed him as he slept, and 
then listening to what sounded like voices on the 
front steps beneath, she peered down from the 
window. 

Yes, it seemed difficult to credit her senses, but 
there were two figures seated together on the steps. 
Appolina, foolish woman, who piqued herself upon 
the fact that she had never declined a “dare” had 
accepted a challenge she had heard her laugh over, 
from Baron d’Holbret to meet him at dawn at his 
own door. But there were other eyes that might 
spy them out in the gray light seated talking to- 
gether, who might not understand that Appolina 


88 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


was only an unusually foolish, and spoiled young* 
woman. What construction might they put upon 
this meeting? Madame d’Holbret was an early 
riser, there was nothing to keep her from seeing 
and drawing inferences! As Marjorie deliberated 
as to what it was best for her to do Appolina rose, 
and throwing a large gray veil lightly over her hat, 
she walked quickly across the lawn to the gap in 
the hedge that divided the two places. 

In the eyes of the world a ‘'blunder is worse 
than a crime.” The knowledge of Appolina’s folly 
must never humiliate the proud hearts of Mr. and 
Mrs. Clay. People with whom the pride of an- 
cestry, the keeping of their name spotless before 
the world, counted before all else. They had been 
Marjorie’s best friends, she would make any sacri- 
fice to save them, but what could she do? Tell 
Decimus? She would only see him for a few min- 
utes before he left. Beside, while there had never 
been any affection between Decimus and Appolina, 
he was very proud. In his resentment, he might 
do something rash, and make a situation more se- 
rious in the public eyes than it in reality warranted. 
With a sudden sense of chill, Marjorie drew her 
thin nightdress closely about her, and then realiz- 
ing the hour, she rose and dressed hurriedly. 

She was barely in time to see Decimus and Mrs. 
Clay, who had walked over with him, and now she 
stood in the grove watching him as his broad 
shoulders were gradually hidden by the trees. 
Twice he turned and waved his hand with a faint 
attempt to smile, and as an angle cut him off from 
view, Marjorie sank down on a bench, near where 
they had stood, overpowered by a sudden sense of 
desolation. She had sent Decimus from her with- 
out a word that would lead him to hope that he 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 89 

might ever be more to her than at present. She 
might never see him again ! He was needed here, 
she should probably have said more to him, have 
given him some intimation of the imprudence of 
Appolina’s conduct. Should she speak to her? If 
she did it would be to incur her everlasting animos- 
ity, and effect no good. To Marjorie there re- 
curred now Decimus’ parting words, “I shall always 
love you, and should I be at the uttermost parts 
of the earth, and you send a word to me, I shall 
come to you.’' As he spoke he had clasped her 
hand with such force that she examined now, with 
languid interest, the crushed member. Except a 
pink and crumpled appearance, however, it bore 
no visible evidence of that hearty handshake. 

Marjorie walked slowly to the house, and to the 
back gallery where she could hear Rand laughing, 
and see his brown head bobbing up and down in 
the garden between the bright-hued poppies. From 
the gallery she decided to go to the laundry in 
search of Mammy. 

The peacock, preening as usual his bronze and 
gold plumage in the sun, when he saw her, uttered 
his peculiar call, and back of him a turkey gobbler, 
unaware that he was to grace a Thanksgiving din- 
ner, and already perked up with good living, took 
such exception at her appearance that she was 
obliged to take refuge in the laundry door. Here, 
instead of Mammy’s presiding, as usual, over the 
ironing board, she was surprised to find that “Aunt 
Esther” had taken her place, and in answer to an 
inquiry as to Mammy’s whereabouts, she was toffl 
that Madame had sent for her and that she had not 
returned. 

Feeling a little uneasy, Marjorie started in 
search of the old v/oman, and as she passed through 


90 


A MASTER OE THE INNER COURT 


the hall she peeped into the library. How cool 
and dark it looked, how inviting its dim recesses ! 
Remembering a book she desired, she walked in 
and stood before the shelves that lined the walls 
on every side, filled with handsomely bound vol- 
umes. Except Rand, these books were her most 
congenial companions, and she touched with caress- 
ing fingers their bindings of crimson, and morocco, 
and gold. There was one thing about all the books 
that seemed unaccountable to her. In many of 
them she noticed the name of the owner had been 
erased. It had the appearance of having been done 
recently, and yet, except Baron d’Holbret and her- 
self; she felt sure that no one had access to the li- 
brary keys. 

Pondering over this, it seemed to her rather 
singular circumstance, she had turned to leave the 
room, with the book under her arm, before she 
realized that she was not the only occupant of the 
library. Standing with his back to the light, his 
tall figure garbed in the pale gray that seemed to 
suit him so well, his head silhouted against the 
dark wainscoting of the room, she saw Baron 
d’Holbret watching her, and as their eyes met, she 
recoiled. 

“The fair Priestess of the library has been chary 
of her presence lately !” he said, laying down the 
book that he held in his hand. His voice was com- 
pelling, and filled with the caressing quality that 
it is so hard for a woman to resist. It had no 
appeal for Marjorie, however, her one thought was 
that this man was the husband of her employer, 
and that whatever her dislike for him might be, if 
she remained in his house, it was incumbent upon 
her to treat him with outward respect, at least. 

“I think, Baron, that you express yourself more 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


91 


poetically than the occasion warrants/' she replied, 
raising her eyes slowly to his face. 

The Baron laughed, rather oddly. ''Come/' he 
said decisively, "talk to me for a little while !" He 
drew up a chair, and almost before she realized it, 
she was seated, and her companion was leaning 
eagerly toward her. 

A silence had suddenly fallen upon them and 
Marjorie began to feel troubled by the intensity of 
his gaze. 

"I think Madame must need me,' 'she began, "I 
was about to " 

Placing his hand over her lips, before she could 
finish the sentence, d'Holbret drew her suddenly to 
him, and held her closely, his eyes burning into her 
own. 

"You know perfectly well, Marjorie Wyngate," 
he said in a low, distinct tone, "that I love you, 
and you alone. Do you imagine for a moment that 
if I had known you that the fortune of this elderly 
woman would have tempted me? As for other 
women, they are mere creatures of flesh and blood 
who succumb to my will, but you — you are the 
sweetest woman God ever made." 

Shrinking from him, Marjorie would have cried 
out in indignation, but as she endeavored to es- 
cape, an expression of baffled rage and dismay 
passed over Baron d'Holbret's face, his hand fell 
from her, and turning Marjorie saw standing in the 
doorway — the Baroness ! 


92 


A master op the inner court 


CHAPTER XVI 

*Tray do not allow me to disturb this interest^ 
ing tableau !” Madame d’Holbret said, in a tone of 
biting irony. 

As she spoke, a long line of light fell across the 
doorway, touching the scar on her cheek into a 
livid finger print. She turned her head, and Mar- 
jorie saw standing back of her, Mrs. Clay and Ap- 
polina. 

‘T believe that this Mrs. Wyngate is a friend of 
yours, Mrs. Clay, and also of your daughter, Mrs. 
Blair. Allow me to introduce her to you in another 
new role that she is playing, that of “The Lady in 
Gray,’' who heavily veiled, has tete-a-tetes on my 
doorstep at dawn with my husband and to avert 
suspicion, steals out from the house, only to return^ 
doubtless, a little later !” 

“Oh, no! No!” Marjorie cried, making an effort 
not to look at Appolina, and turning to Mrs. Clay, 
who stood regarding her too aghast for words. 

“I thought it only right that I should give you 
some intimation of her real character, on account 
of your daughter, and I shall certainly do so to 
others,” Madame d’Holbret said. 

“Probably there is a mistake, and some one else 
affects these early hours,” Appolina said lightly, 
an expression almost of amusement in her strange 
eyes. “One of the servants, perhaps, going on an 
errand.” 

“I cannot Imagine to what my wife refers,” 
P>aroii d’Holbret exclaimed, the color coming back 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


93 


to his face. ‘‘Mrs. Wyngate. you are an early riser, 
can you not enlighten us?” 

'‘Yes, I am an early riser,” replied Marjorie 
slowly. Her voice was almost inaudible. 

Appolina seemed about to speak, but some coun- 
ter impulse evidently restrained her. 

“It is very kind of you, Mrs. Blair, to throw a 
mantle of charity over your friend,” Madame 
d’Holbret said, ignoring her husband, and looking 
straight at Appolina. “I have often wondered why 
my secretary found it necessary to rise at day- 
break. Certainly not to fulfil any duty connected 
with her work.” 

“This misunderstanding is entirely due to my 
deplorable temper,” declared the Baron, with ap- 
parent magnanimity. “Mrs. Wyngate would not 
accept my judgment about a certain book. She 
was so positive that she angered me. and you know 
my temper, Charlotte.” 

“I have had occasion to do so,” his wife returned 
dryly. 

Her eyes followed him as he stooped to pick up 
a small book which had fallen to the floor, as if in 
corroboration of this statement. 

“Marjorie Wyngate is one of our earliest friends,” 
said Mrs. Clay, lifting her head proudly, with a 
flash dangerously near to temper in her eyes. “I 
feel sure there is some mistake in this unwarranted 
accusation. You rose at an early hour this morn- 
ing, Marjorie. Did you see a woman in grey, heav- 
ily veiled, leave the house?” 

“I should prefer not answering your question,” 
Marjorie replied, in a low voice. 

Mrs. Clay regarded Marjorie with sudden con- 
sternation, and then turning away, she declined an 
invitation to remain, and left, followed by Appo- 


94 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


lina, who, in her white dress with her glowing 
color and gay laughter, had made a radiant vision 
in the darkened room. 

Baron d’Holbret had followed them to the door 
and Marjorie, without looking toward her em- 
ployer, left the room and walked up stairs to the 
seclusion of her own room, where for some time 
she paced slowly up and down the floor. Her face 
grew troubled as she thought of Appolina; how 
easy it w^ould have been for her to have explained 
the unsavory situation, but as it was, silence, until 
she, Marjorie, was brought out as the scapegoat, 
and then Appolina's cowardly refusal to tell the 
truth. 

Marjorie longed to spare the Clay’s any humil- 
iation that Appolina’s folly might bring upon them 
and would do so as long as honorable silence did 
not degenerate into a subtler form of cowardice. 

It was only when her thoughts turned from Ap- 
polina to the Baron that her courage wavered and 
a fierce resentment grew within her. Was she to 
blame for what had happened? Surely she had 
shown in every way in her power, her aversion for 
Baron d’Holbret, and yet from the first day he had 
come he had deliberately thrown himself in her 
path, and had done his utmost to annoy her. What 
was there in her personality that could attract such 
a man? She could not help seeing that his infat- 
uation, for she could call it nothing else, was not 
assumed, merely to frighten and intimidate a help- 
less woman. It was more real than anything else 
about him. Her brain whirled at last as she tried 
to think the matter out and to readjust her views 
of life. She must find some way to protect herself 
from a repetition of so humiliating an experience. 
Could she have been undignified, or lacking in 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


95 


proper reserve? Searching her soul, she knew she 
had not. But then, why, why? Exhausted with 
thinking in a circle, she lay on her bed, dry-eyed, 
and desperately unhappy. Not only had she been 
insulted by an enemy, but her own familiar friends 
in whom she trusted seemed to have espoused his 
cause, and utterly deserted her. Would Decimus 
have done that? She knew he would not! 

It was not until Rand and Mammy came in chat- 
ting together, and she had his young arms about 
her neck, that a relief she rarely indulged in came 
to her, and she gave way to tears. 

“Sweet, good Mama!’' Rand said, pressing her 
head to his little shoulder, and wiping the tears 
from her eyes. “Was it the Baron who hurt your 
feelings?” 

Marjorie shook her head. 

“I am glad of it !” An expression of relief passed 
over his face. “Madame has sent off my little 
black dog that I named Nigger, and she won’t let 
Mammy stay here any longer ! What do you think 
we had better do? Don’t you believe. Mama, that 
Decimus would like to marry us? We could go 
away then, and live somewhere else.” 

“Precious darling!” Marjorie kissed his innocent 
blue eyes “I will do just what you want me to 
do.” 

“You know, it would be a good thing for Mam- 
my, too,” Rand said, eyeing Mammy judicially. 
“She could have an ironing room all to herself then, 
and not iron any clothes but her own.” 

“Blessed Lamb !” Mammy ejaculated, visibly af- 
fected by this provision for her comfort. “I told 
the Madame that, if she wasn’t good to you and to 
your Ma, after I went away, that I was gwine 'cun- 
jur’ her and I surely will!” Mammy touched a 


96 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


mysterious charm made of herbs that she always 
wore suspended around her neck. '^She lowed that 
my eyesight was too poor to iron, so I asked her 
if she knew what made it so weak. She said no, 
she didn’t, and I told her,” Mammy raised her head 
with a toss, “that it was the shining of our family 
silver before the war that put out my sight. Then 
she lowed it was a pity we didn’t keep some of that 
silver !” 

Remembering how hard Mammy had worked, 
and how small her compensation, a wave of indig- 
nation swept over Marjorie. She realized she could 
not, with dignity, make this place any longer a 
home for herself and her child. But she faced a 
difficult situation, for now, and this for the first 
time in her life, the very necessities of living for 
her and Rand were dependent upon her own exer- 
tions. As she sat thinking, she glanced toward the 
old cheval glass, opposite to which she sat. On 
her arrival at the “Shelter,” she had been assigned 
the room that had been occupied by her mother in 
her girlhood. The walls, though faded, were still 
pink; over the bedstead there was a heavy gold 
ring through which pink damask curtains and 
filmy lace had once been drawn. The cheval glass 
bore peculiar interest for Marjorie, for here, doubt- 
less, her mother had taken a lingering glance at 
her beautiful face on that last night when she had 
so bravely gone out to build up the fallen fortunes 
of the family, in a world that, after this seclusion, 
she must have feared and dreaded. Marjorie saw 
in the mirror that her face was still tear-stained, 
but in the innocent talk of her child, and the old 
woman, that laughter had come back to her lips, 
and she came to a sudden determination. She 


A MASTER OP THE INNER COURT 


97 


would go and see Mr. Bonnycastle; she had not 
seen him since a memorable evening when she had 
walked over with Decimus, and while, of course, 
she could not tell him of what had just taken place 
in regard to Appolina, his words were always full 
of an inspiration that would throw light on the 
darkest path. 

The clock in the hall was striking an hour. Five 
o’clock! She walked to the window and looked 
out at a leaden sky. There was every prospect of 
one of the thunder showers that were so frequent 
at this time of the year; they soon passed, how- 
ever, and if she hurried, she might have time to go 
over and see Mr. Bonnycastle before the rain. 
Slipping a waterproof about her, and with a fare- 
well kiss to Rand, she pinned on her hat as she 
went down the steps, and walked rapidly through 
the grove, and the short stretch of turnpike that 
led to Mr. Bonnycastle’s gate. Here she stopped 
and looked toward the town. The *‘Knob,” a high, 
bare hill, hid its bald head in the low skurrying 
clouds, and across the heavens there flashed a long 
zigzag line of light. 

Marjorie drew her cloak more closely about her, 
and ran toward the house, where a sudden gust of 
wind almost blew her into the open door. 

“The Maister’s waiting fur ye all the noon!” 
Janet Markham said, closing the door quickly — 
“and I ran doon to open the door when I saw ye 
cornin’ awa’ through the storm.” 

“I liked it!” Marjorie said, laughing. “But how 
could Mr. Bonnycastle have known that I was 
coming?” 

Janet, her kindly Scotch face beaming with wel- 
come, shook her head, and having been divested of 


98 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


her waterproof, Marjorie followed her through one 
of the arched doorways, and the short corridor 
that led to the room, that frequently in these past 
weeks she had thought of with so much pleasure. 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


99 


CHAPTER XVII 

Mr. Bonnycastle sat with his back to the door. 
He rose as she came in, and advancing toward her, 
it struck Marjorie that there was an elasticity in 
his step, a greater vitality in the warm grasp of his 
hand, and a light over his face, as from some in- 
ward joy, that was even more marked than when 
she had seen him last. 

He seemed delighted to see her, and having 
placed her in one of the large chairs, drew up his 
own, and began to make inquiries about Rand. 

“I have wanted to thank you for sending your 
boy over. He is a rare child! I thought his men- 
tality and his beauty both unusual.^' 

*‘He has been so well here in the country !” Mar- 
jorie said, smiling happily, and then remembering 
how short a time it was to last, she sighed. 

*‘He reminds me in appearance of his father, and 
yet he is like you too. I saw Lawrence Wyngate 
once, you know. Have you heard anything more 
from his mother?’" 

'‘No, but for some months after my husband’s 
death, the allowance that his mother had sent to 
him continued to come to us through Mrs. Wyn- 
gate’s agent. A year ago, however it was discon- 
tinued. At that time, if I am not mistaken, she 
was in Paris.” 

“Did it ever strike you, Marjorie,” Mr. Bonny- 
castle spoke slowly, “that your mother-in-law 
might be in close proximity to you?” 

“In close proximity?” Marjorie looked puzzled. 


100 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


"'It was only a suggestion/' Mr. Bonnycastle 
said hastily. “Think about it, my dear!" The 
shower now close at hand was heralded by a low 
rumble of thunder, followed by a blinding flash, 
and the rain began to fall in torrents against the 
panes of glass. Mr. Bonnycastle walked to the 
window and drawing up a chair for Marjorie, they 
sat where they could see the storm. 

"‘You were just in time!" he exclaimed. 

“When I came over this afternoon," Marjorie 
raised her eyes timidly to Mr. Bonnycastle’s face, 
“I felt uneasy about you; I heard that you had 
been "away’." 

“Away — in a sense that I would not speak of to 
the world, for the world would not understand. 
This storm suggests a subject of unusual interest 
— the possible connection between electricity and 
psychic force. As I have suggested to you, the 
tendency of facts goes far to prove that they are 
closely connected." 

“I wonder if most spiritualistic phenomena can- 
not be attributed to this force?" asked Marjorie, 
eagerly. 

“To some extent, perhaps, since, as we have just 
said. Psychic force and electricity are so nearly 
allied that it is difficult to separate the two," Mr. 
Bonnycastle replied thoughtfully. “I think the 
great stumbling block of modern Spiritualism has 
been the effort to make a physical demonstration 
of a purely spiritual problem. A recent writer tells 
us, "That if we would shift the plane of our atten- 
tion from the fields of physical phenomena without, 
to that of psychical phenomena within, we would 
not be long in striking a trail that would lead us 
into the light of a scientific demonstration through 
a definite personal experience." 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


101 


‘‘But what proof have you that this is true?” 

“The proof that I have made the ‘demonstration' 
myself, I have had the ‘personal experience.' Do 
not think that this came to me easily. For many 
years my soul was enveloped in the darkness of 
despair, and overcome by this awful presence. I 
became a wanderer over the face of the earth. The 
Presence of which I speak has been called by many 
names ; the most familiar is ‘Giant Despair.' Few 
have the courage to look into this abyss; probably 
not more than a million know that it exists — most 
of these turn from it in horror. Of those left, 
probably half perish, frequently by their own hand ; 
the six or more who win out are those who have 
understood the writing over the Temple Door, the 
great ‘Know Thyself,' the precept of all Mystics, 
To me, during this period, the tomb was the end 
of all, a closed door, with no crevice through which 
might penetrate one ray of light. In this state of 
mind, I went into the Great Desert, and it was 
there in the silence that 1 was given spiritual eyes 
and ears. The voices that I heard were at first 
faint, the vision often dim, but enough, I had dis- 
covered — not the closed Door that I expected, but 
a secret portal that might be pushed backward 
upon an open way." 

Marjorie, with quickened breath, and slightly 
parted lips, listened to Mr. Bonnycastle with rapt 
interest. 

“Is there any rule by which we may find the 
secret spring that opens the “Closed Door?" she 
asked. 

“Have you ever heard of the Lost Word?" asked 
Mr. Bonnycastle in a low tone. “This tradition 
occurs in several Eastern religions, and is among 
the tenets of the Masonic order. It may have 


102 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


originated, when the wisest men of the then known 
nations met at the building of the Temple of Sol- 
omon. 

“This 'word’ of direct instruction meant vastly 
more to the mystic of old than the mere Pass 
Word. To him it meant spiritual life and light, by 
it he guided his footsteps in the pathway of Truth. 
Finally, as an accredited ‘Master of the Inner 
Court,’ he attained that mastery of self by the ex- 
ercise of which he might, at will, temporarily 
withdraw from the physical body, and travel 
whither he would, free from the limitations of the 
flesh, and at last receive a Master’s degree.” 

“But is this mysterious word that gave such 
wonderful power ever to be restored?” cried Mar- 
jorie, overcome with awe, and trembling as if 
shaken by thoughts and influences too great for 
her to understand. 

“It not only can, but will be done,” replied Mr. 
Bonnycastle, and it seemed to Marjorie that his 
voice had the tone of a golden bell. “The work to 
that end is already well upon the way.” 

He sat for a moment in deep contemplation, and 
his face was that of one who sees “the beatific vis- 
ion.” To Marjorie, as she sat gazing at him, came 
a sudden knowledge that his life on earth was 
nearing its completion. 

At last he broke the silence, speaking in his or- 
dinary voice. 

“There is a subject, Marjorie, that at present 
concerns you much more deeply than a discussion 
upon the higher knowledge. I fully realize, my 
child, how painful your position in Madame d’Hol- 
bret’s house must be. In closing the door of her 
home to you and Rand, she is shutting out all that 
could make life bright to her. The evil influence 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


103 


that has subjugated her strong will is ever present 
and ever at work, but it cannot affect you! Spir- 
itual forces are arrayed on your side, and at no 
time will you really be alone. Even now I have 
a message for you.’' 

“A message for me?” Marjorie exclaimed won- 
deringly. 

Mr. Bonnycastle glanced toward the window. 
'‘Do you see now that we can hardly distinguish 
the outlines of the trees through the rain? In the 
same way our eyes are hidden so that often we 
cannot see the things that stare us in the face, 
until the time arrives when our minds have rip- 
ened. Then, when our spiritual eyes are opened, 
to our amazement we find that we are no longer 
alone, that all about us are men, women, and chil- 
dren of matchless grace and unrivalled loveliness. 
I myself found that the writer of the ‘Great 
Work’ does not exaggerate when he tells us that 
‘The robes and flowers that they wear far surpass 
anything ever beheld by mortal eye.’ The day 
that I saw you last, my Beloved appeared to me, 
and when she beckoned I followed, I know not 
where, but not to remain. This is not the first 
time that my spirit has returned and taken up its 
abode in the flesh. This time it was to bring a 
message to you, and from your mother.” 

“My — mother !” 

“Yes. Here is her portrait!” Mr. Bonnycastle 
drew aside the curtain from before the niche, and 
Marjorie gazed in rapture on her mother’s face. 

“Marjorie, your mother was the one love of my 
life,” he said softly. “Through a misunderstand- 
ing we were separated. She married your father, 
and, as you know, her mortal life was brief. She 
bids me tell you that the problem that now con- 


104 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


fronts you will be solved in an unexpected way. 
You are to cast no backward glance upon the path, 
but to look forward into a life of contentment and 
peace.” 

The curtain fell to its place in heavy folds, and 
for several minutes neither Mr. Bonnycastle or 
Marjorie spoke. 

At last Marjorie felt she must go. Her mind 
was filled with questions that could only be an- 
swered by solitary thought. 

‘Tt is too late to go alone!” Mr. Bonnycastle 
said, ringing the bell hastily. “Andrew Markham 
will walk over with you. I expect to leave here 
soon, Marjorie, to go to the Holy Land. Yes, in 
the flesh this time!” he said smiling. “I regret 
leaving now on your account, but I have left in- 
structions in regard to you with these loyal Scotch 
servants and friends of mine, Andrew and Janet 
Markham. I shall see you again before I leave.” 

For a moment Mr. Bonnycastle’s manner had 
lost its usual composure. Then again serene, ra- 
diant, he regarded Marjorie with a tenderness so 
paternal that it brought tears to her eyes. Stand- 
ing at the front entrance she found the Scotchman 
waiting for her and looking up at the sky. 

“The wind ha' settled!” he remarked abruptly, 
and they walked in silence to the “Shelter.” 


A MASTER OF THE INKER COURT 


lOS 


CHAPTER xvni 

An Indian summer of golden sunshine and blue 
skies was followed by days in which the sky had 
taken on a gray leaden hue. Above the tall red 
chimneys of the ‘^Shelter/’ the swallows no longer 
circled, and in the open fireplaces pine logs crackled 
and blazed, casting shadows upon the paneled walls 
and making the house fragrant with the delicious 
aroma of pine. 

Although Marjorie had notified her employer 
that she would not remain with her, the weeks 
had slipped by, and she still found herself an in- 
mate of her home. This had been brought about 
through various means. In the first place, the day 
after the departure of Decimus and the revelation 
that had come to Marjorie in regard to Appolina, 
followed by Madame d'Holbret’s accusation of her- 
self, Baron d’Holbret had taken a hasty departure^ 
declaring that his presence was required at once in 
his native land. After this, although it was impos- 
sible for Madame to conceal her bitter animosityy 
her manner toward Marjorie underwent a singular 
transformation. She was not only conciliatory, but 
she made constant excuses of work that delayed 
her secretary's departure, and Marjorie, consoling 
herself that this hostility did not extend to Rand, 
whom she had seen her employer frequently watch 
with furtive interest, decided not to hurry away 
until she found some suitable place to which they 
might go. But remembering the old adage, “When 


106 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


the Greeks send gifts, beware,” she remained with 
misgivings. 

Since the morning of the scene in the library 
when she had been accused by Madame d’Holbret, 
Marjorie had seen Mrs. Clay but once. Then her 
old friend, with every expression of hurt pride, had 
confided to Marjorie gossip in the village that could 
only have emanated, she insisted, from insinua- 
tions cast abroad by the Baroness in which, nat- 
urally, she did not incriminate her husband. Un- 
der any circumstances Mrs. Clay said, Marjorie 
owed it, not only to herself, but to her friends, to 
tell all she knew about this “veiled woman” who 
had been stealing out at dawn from the “Shelter,” 
and whose identity she did not deny that she had 
recognized. 

When Marjorie had declined to do this, Mrs. 
Clay reminded her that in every community there 
were women, so called “good women,” certainly 
strict church members, who, while they would look 
with horror upon a man who took a woman’s life, 
without the slightest compunction, over a cup of 
tea, would take what was far more precious to her 
— her character. After this warning, Mrs. Clay 
lifted her skirts preparatory to leaving, with the 
manner of one who cast from her all farther re- 
sponsibility in the matter. 

Much to her relief, Marjorie had not again seen 
Appolina — who, impatient of control, had rarely 
listened to her mother’s suggestions. Now, how- 
ever, she had found it agreeable to do so, and Mrs. 
Clay — a sweet woman, even a noble one when a 
line of duty had been pointed out, but a little 
narrow — impressed it upon her daughter she had 
better not go to the “Shelter” until some of the 
gossip had died down, and the general character of 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


107 


the d’Holbret household was better understood in 
the neighborhood. And as Marjorie came to real- 
ize Appolina’s withdrawal and what it signified — 
since it was voluntary — of her cowardice and of 
Mrs. Clay’s unowned but very substantial fear of 
contamination, it took all her native sanity of char- 
acter and mental poise to keep her humor from 
being tinged with cynicism. 

Baron d’Holbret’s absence was only a brief one, 
and in a few weeks an advance telegram announced 
his impending return. The telegram was followed 
by three imposing looking individuals, a chef, a 
butler, and a lady’s maid. 

A grand piano next made its appearance, and 
after this a stud of blooded riding horses, beside 
numerous barrels and boxes of provisions for the 
table. 

Marjorie watched, with secret amusement, the 
expression of Madame d’Holbret as she signed 
checks for these purchases made by her husband, 
evidently without consulting her. The sarcastic 
smile with which she had eyed the lady’s maid, 
and the chef, was changed into grim humor on the 
arrival of the grand piano, but when she signed a 
check for twenty thousand dollars, made out in her 
name, to be paid for the stud of horses, she fell 
into a state approaching collapse. In consequence 
of this rash expenditure, for several days the 
household was reduced to a condition border- 
ing upon famine, and the chef was on the eve of 
departure, when the master of the house himself 
made his appearance. 

Baron d’Holbret brought with him several men 
friends whom he had met on his travels, and to 
whom he had held out the prospect of fox hunts, 
social festivities, and of seeing the South in its 


IDS 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


most hospitable aspect. And the house, now filled 
with guests, presented a very different aspect, and 
had an atmosphere of gaiety which had been lack- 
ing during the regime of Madame d’Holbret. When 
she had become in a measure reconciled, under her 
husband^s influence, to his large expenditures, 
which he persuaded her were necessary in order 
to maintain her important position in the commu- 
nity, she began to be entertained and interested by 
the festivities which were constantly in progress. 
Among d’Holbret's friends was a young French- 
man named Gaspard de Bretigny, who paid assid- 
uous court to her, on all occasions, and admired 
everything she did and said with Gallic fervor. 
This was agreeable to her, and d’Holbret, too, had 
never been more devoted, nor did he take the 
slightest notice of her secretary, Mrs. Wyngate. 

At the breakfast table one morning soon after 
his arrival, he asked Marjorie, distantly, if she 
would be good enough to try the new piano, and 
make some selections for an impromptu musicale 
which was to take place that evening at “The Shel- 
ters.” The musicians had been engaged to come 
out from the city. During the morning there was 
to be a “fox-hunt,” so the day would be full of 
pleasurable excitement. 

“The ‘meet’ must not be too early, Francis,” his 
wife reminded him. “Mr. Jasper is coming at 
eleven o’clock on a matter of business which re- 
quires your presence.” 

“So he is,” said the Baron, indifferently. “There 
is no great hurry about that, though, Charlotte,” 
and smiling at her affectionately he bent to kiss 
her hand, then gave a quick glance at Marjorie to 
see if she had heard what the Baroness had said. 

The other guests had gone out into the garden 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


109 


after breakfast, but Baron d’HoIbret and de Bre- 
tigny had lingered on the gallery to smoke and 
talk for a few moments. 

“La Secretaire, de Madame votre femme, cet une 
jeune femme charmante,'’ Marjorie heard de Bre- 
tigny say. “And much too beautiful to be in such 
a position.*' 

“Do you think so?" said the Baron, lazily, as he 
looked through a magazine, which he had picked 
up from a table. *,She is extremely studious, and 
performs her duties remarkably well, my wife tells 
me. But, my dear fellow, you must wait until the 
hunt to see a real Tennessee beauty ! I will prom- 
ise you much pleasure in her society." 

The two young men sauntered down the steps 
into the garden to join the others, laughing and 
talking gaily in French. 

A little later Marjorie went into the music room 
and ran her fingers lightly over the keyboard of 
the beautiful piano. Its tone was perfect, and she 
promised herself at least a half hour’s enjoyment. 
She was looking over the music at her disposal, 
with pleasant anticipation, when she felt that some- 
one was gazing at her. d’Holbret had silently en- 
tered the room, and in his eyes was an erpression 
that made her tremble. There could be no doubt 
of his feeling for her, and when they were alone 
he did not attempt to conceal it. Her hands fell 
to her lap. and she looked up at him with marked 
coldness, her face pale and firm. 

He was about to seize her hand, when Rand 
entered the room, holding in his hand a katydid. 
In the big locust tree outside the window, this 
slender green insect had been conducting its famil- 
iar argument, “katydid, katy didn’t," and Rand, 
having captured it, was examining it under a mag- 


110 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


nifying glass that Mr. Bonnycastle had given him. 
The Baron sank disgustedly into a chair near the 
piano, and began to look through some music; but 
in reality he was looking at Rand, with an enig- 
matic expression. 

Rand immediately went to his mother^s side to 
show her his prize, and to ask for its story, while 
the Baron looked on with inscrutable eyes. 

‘'As the story goes, Rand,’' Marjorie, dressed in 
a soft white morning dress that showed the grace 
of her slender figure, turned on the piano stool as 
she spoke, “Plato, a Greek philosopher and natur- 
alist, tells us that ‘Before the Muses lived the cica- 
das were men on earth who so loved song and 
singing, that to lose no time from it they left off 
eating and so died, but in death they became ci- 
cadas’ 

“I think this one was a tall, slender lady. Mama, 
(like Miss Araminta), who dressed in a pale green 
dress, and when the katydids gave concerts, she 
played on a harp.” 

Baron d’Holbret laid down his paper, laughing. 
“Rand is right,” he declared. “According to the 
Tuscan peasants the cicadas were maids, not men, 
who forgot to eat. The cavaletta, the cicada is 
called in Tuscany. Wagner, Mrs. Wyngate? I 
cannot believe it!” The Baron turned toward the 
piano. “Wagner is bad for youths, fatal to wo- 
men. Nietzche compares some of Wagner’s music 
to ‘subtle poison.’ ” 

“Nietzche was incapable of appreciating Wag- 
ner’s music,” Marjorie replied with some spirit. 

“I would suggest that we have something light 
for the musicale, a selection from one of the late 
operas,” he continued, and rising, he walked over to 
the piano and stood turning over the leaves of 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


111 


music, his back to the door. “For my part, I am 
old-fashioned enough to like ‘Faust,’ Gounod’s mu- 
sic breathes of passion,” he continued, in a low 
tone, “whether it is secular or religious.” 

Marjorie began to play softly, in the hope of 
making a diversion. 

“The modern operas are a little too advanced in 
some ways for a rural entertainment,” she said hur- 
riedly. “If you will trust my taste, I think I can 
arrange a satisfactory programme, without taking 
you from your guests any longer.” 

Baron d’Holbret was about to speak, when the 
sound of horses hoofs was heard, galloping up the 
gravel road that led from the gate to the house. 
Rising, Marjorie walked to the window, followed 
closely by her companion. 

Appolina, with several gentlemen in attendance, 
had arrived for the fox hunt. In her green riding 
habit, showing admirably her perfect figure, and 
with her glowing cheeks, she made a charming 
picture, and in response to her smiles and beckon- 
ing hand, Baron d’Holbret sprang through the 
open window, and hastened to her side. As he 
drew near her Appolina pouted her red lips. 

“Aren’t you coming now?” she exclaimed, seeing 
that he was not dressed for the hunt. Leaning 
toward her, he said something in a low tone, then 
added more audibly that a lawyer was expected, 
and he would have to be present, but for not one 
unnecessary moment would he absent himself from 
her side. He would join her at the meet he de- 
clared, in a very short time. As he spoke, his 
hand, unseen by the others, closed upon Appoli- 
na’s, and they exchanged a glance. Then, turning 
to one of the other gentlemen who had come to 


112 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


join them, Appolina made a motion of kicking out 
at him with her pretty feet. 

‘'Go away, Tom, I don’t like you to-day,’” she 
exclaimed pettishly. 

“Not the first time I have been kicked by you, 
Appolina,” he said dryly. 

“Yes, even on her wedding journey one of 

the others began, but did not finish his sentence. 

“What! Was Appolina ever conventional enough 
to take a wedding journey?” asked a tall, cynical 
looking young man. 

“So she says,” replied the first speaker, one of 
Appolina’s earliest admirers, teasingly. “Shall I 
tell them, Appolina? All I know is that on her 
return she said that she had had a very pleasant 
time, but that the bridegroom, George Blair, 
seemed very sad, and she reckoned he had never 
recovered from the loss of his first wife.” 

“Stop guying. Jack, you’re mean.” Appolina ex- 
claimed, not joining in the laugh that followed this 
sally. She gave a lash with her whip that Bonny 
Kate evidently resented as an insult for she reared 
suddenly, with a dangerous light in her beautiful 
eyes. This gave Appolina an excellent opportunity 
to show her horsemanship, which she made full 
use of, while her little coterie looked on admir- 
ingly. 

At this moment de Bretigny and his companions 
emerged from the house, faultlessly arrayed for 
the hunt, and mounted their horses, which were 
pawing impatiently at the door. Baron d’Holbret 
introduced them to Appolina and her retinue, while 
Marjorie stood quietly at the window, a little apart 
from the gay scene. 

“Mon cher, Francois!” cried de Bretigny, enthu- 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


113 


siastically. ‘^Mon Dieu! N’est ce pas — Olympe, 
et Diane, la Deisse de la chasse, aves nous?’" 

“Yes, there are Goddesses in Tennessee, and this 
is Diana!” replied the Baron, looking directly into 
Appolina’s eyes. She dropped them for a moment, 
then turned gaily toward Marjorie. 

*'You would not come, of course, you busy girl,” 
she said, throwing an airy kiss. “You could not 
possibly leave Rand, or Madame d’Holbret.” Mar- 
jorie could not help smiling at the mimicry of her 
own sedate tones, and waved her hand in farewell. 

“Hear the baying of the hounds !” cried Appolina, 
in sudden excitement. “OJd Jiles has arrived with 
the pack. We must be off.” 

O, it’s up at the break of day. Away! 

It’s up and into the saddle and crack. Away! 

Away ! 

We follow the hounds at the break of day, away! 

The steeds go clattering over the plains, away! 

Bonny Kate was only too ready to start, and 
dashed down the avenue at a fleet pace. 

Following Appolina, the gentlemen sprang into 
their saddles. A gay “Halloo I Halloo !” burst 
from the party, as they galloped away. 

As Marjorie stood at the window, she saw them 
reappear, soon after, in the distance, ascending a 
high hill, their figures outlined against the sky. 
Baron d’Holbret re-entered the music room, but he 
was seated in a chair, apparently engrossed in a 
music book which he had taken up, when Marjorie 
turned to see Madam d’Holbret standing inside the 
room. 


114 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


CHAPTER XIX 

Madame d’Holbret stood for some minutes in the 
doorway, silently watching them, and then came 
forward, her head well up in the air, and shaking 
a little. Her manner showed that something had 
occurred to anger her recently. Behind her came 
an elderly, professional looking man, whom Mar- 
jorie recognized as Mr. Jasper, a lawyer, and one 
of her early acquaintances. He shook hands with 
her cordially, and as her employer’s haughty glance 
rested upon Rand and herself, she would have left 
the room had the lawyer not detained them. 

“As Dr. Pell, who was to act as one of the wit- 
nesses to this document, has not arrived, Mad- 
ame,” he turned to the Baroness, “perhaps Mrs. 
Wyngate will be so kind as to act in that capacity.” 

“My secretary?” she raised her brows, and there 
was a scornful inflection in her voice. “What pos- 
sible interest could she and her son have in the 
matter? I consider it most unsuitable for them to 
be present.” 

“In making a will,” declared the lawyer, “it is 
always wise to have among the witnesses entirely 
disinterested parties, so that if any question comes 
up afterwards, they can testify to this fact, and so 
strengthen the will. Dr. Pell has probably been 
detained by the necessities of his profession, or he 
would certainly be here by this time.” 

The Baroness remained silent a moment, as if 
debating the question in her mind. Looking up 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


115 


suddenly at Baron d’Holbret, she observed that he 
was not altogether in accordance with the lawyer’s 
views, and this decided her. 

“I believe you are right,” she said. '‘Let us con- 
clude this matter at once. I am weary of this dis- 
cussion.” 

“Certainly, certainly,” said Mr. Jasper, affably. 
“No offense, I trust!” In the usual professional 
drone, he began, according to custom to read the 
will to the testator, and Marjorie soon realized that 
the whole of Madame d’Holbret’s large estate 
(‘’since by a dispensation of Providence, she had 
been left without heirs”) was devised and be- 
queathed to her husband, Baron d’Holbret. That 
gentleman sat with frowning brows, his head on his 
hand, his eyes intently fixed upon his wife. Was 
he endeavoring to read that Sphinx-like face, and 
was he succeeding? Marjorie could not tell. 

The lawyer’s voice ceased, and he gave a quick 
glance about the room as he removed his specta- 
cles. 

“I hear carriage wheels,” said Baron d’Holbret, 
“perhaps Dr. Pell is here now, and it will not be 
necessary to trouble Mrs. Wyngate.” 

“Who is to be the second witness?” demanded 
the lawyer. 

As he spoke, the Baroness, who sat where she 
could see from the windows, rose in evident agita- 
tion. A handsome carriage and horses had stopped 
before the door, and from it descended, not Dr. 
Pell, but someone for whom she felt that even so 
important a matter as a will could wait, for it was 
no other person than Mr. Robin Bonnycastle. A 
servant walked by his side up to the door, but this 
was merely a formality, since, but for his snowy 
locks, he looked like a young man. His step was 


116 A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 

elastic, his clear eyes were illumined as if from a 
light within, and his skin was as fair and pink as 
that of a child. The day being cold, he wore a 
long black overcoat, lined with some beautiful fur 
that came up about his throat. 

“Shall we continue, madame?’' asked Mr. Jasper, 
deferentially. “It is only a matter of a few mo- 
ments, fifteen or twenty at the most.’' 

“No,” replied the Baroness decisively. “I will 
receive Mr. Bonnycastle at once. Mrs. Wyngate, 
will you see that my servants are attending him 
properly?” 

Marjorie arose with alacrity, and went out into 
the hall, followed by Rand, who walked quietly 
behind her. The Baroness involuntarily looked at 
him, and a little more expression came into her 
face for a moment, then was sternly repressed. 

Mr. Bonnycastle was just entering the door and 
warmly greeted Marjorie and Rand as they came 
toward him. “You are both well?” he said, with 
a keen glance at their serious faces. 

As they entered the music room, the Baroness 
rose, and held out her hand with unusual gracious- 
ness. “It gives me great pleasure to welcome you, 
Mr. Bonnycastle,” she said suavely. “Allow me to 
present my husband, Baron d’Holbret. Mr. Jasper, 
I presume, you know.” 

In the formality of the introduction, Mr. Bonny- 
castle’s glance passed over the Baron almost with- 
out recognition, as he continued to bow with 
courtly grace over the hand the Baroness had ex- 
tended to him. 

“To meet Mr. Bonnycastle is a pleasure coveted 
by many, but accorded to few,” she explained, in a 
little flutter of excitement. 

“You do me too much honor, Madame.” said her 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


117 


guest, “I regret that I can only tarry for a mo- 
ment. I am about to take a long journey, most 
unexpectedly, and have come to pay my respects 
to you, and to say farewell to my dear friends, 
Mrs. Wyngate and Rand.” 

He paused with a smile, then continued: “But 
am I not interrupting some grave occasion?” he 
turned to the old lawyer, who bowed, in a depre- 
cating way. 

The Baroness drew herself up a little stiffly, and 
replied with manifest constraint: “We are contem- 
plating the signing of my will. Since the death of 
my son, and later of his son, I have found this nec- 
essary.” 

“Then, I am indeed intruding!” Mr. Bonnycastle 
bestowed upon the Baroness one of his most 
charming smiles. “For the making of a will de- 
mands long and serious consideration, whether the 
amount involved be large or small.” 

“I agree with you entirely,” answered the Bar- 
oness, a curious look coming into her eyes. “And 
since you have honored us, Mr. Bonnycastle, I 
think I will not sign my will to-day.” 

Baron d’Holbret looked up quickly, but his 
wife’s face was even more impassive than usual. 
As for Mr. Bonnycastle, he was gazing intently 
at a piece of jewelry that the Baroness wore, and 
seemed to have forgotten about the will for the 
time being. 

“I am greatly interested,” he said quietly, “in 
that exquisite pin you wear. Italian, is it not? I 
made quite a study of miniatures in my youth.” 

The Baroness unloosened the pin, and handed it 
to him. 

“It is a miniature of my son, by a famous artist,” 


118 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


she replied. '‘You will see that the workmanship 
is unusually fine. The expense of these small 
paintings is incredible, and I prize this one very 
much.” 

Mr. Bonnycastle examined the miniature care- 
fully, and then glanced up at Rand, who was 
standing near him. 

“Curious!” he said meditatively, his gaze again 
resting upon the miniature. “Do you know, Mad- 
ame, I see a decided resemblance between this 
painting and my little friend here?” 

The Baroness looked almost appalled for a mo- 
ment, then stretched out her hand for the minia- 
ture, fastening it with agitated fingers. 

“That is very strange,” she said, in a low, choked 
voice. 

“Is not our distinguished visitor accredited with 
seeing many things not visible to the eyes of ordi- 
nary beings?” There was a world of meaning in 
Francis d’Holbret's tone, but Mr. Bonnycastle 
gave no sign of having heard him. He remained 
for some time, skillfully covering the Baroness' agi- 
tation by the interest of his talk, and not only his 
hostess, but Dr. Pell who had bustled in, murmur- 
ing something about “a matter of life and death, 
nine pounds at the very least, and poor as Job's 
turkey, of course,” listened with delight as he 
talked of life in the Orient, and of recent scientific 
discoveries. 

The beneficiary of the unsigned will seemed 
alone to have escaped the spell, but if he felt any 
impatience, he was clever enough to conceal it. 

“Since we have put off this business matter for 
the present,” he said, carelessly, “I think I must 
join my friends, who are awaiting me at the ‘meet/ 
I am sure Mr. Bonnycastle will excuse me.” 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


119 


'‘Good hunting, sir,'' said Mr. Bonnycastle, with 
a quizzical smile. 

“That they will have, I am sure," declared the 
Baroness, and the sarcasm of her tone was not lost 
upon her husband. “He delights in that sport, and 
I know that some of his friends," she paused, “are 
anxiously expecting him." 

Without making any reply, but bowing low to 
his wife and Mr. Bonnycastle, Baron d’Holbret 
left the room. He realized now that his wife had 
seen from her window his pronounced flirtation 
with Appolina, and it was this that had angered 
her. 

After his departure, Mr. Bonnycastle only re- 
mained a few minutes, and then said good-bye to 
the Baroness, promising that he would send her 
a letter from India. With Marjorie and Rand on 
each side, their hands clasped in his, he walked to 
the carriage. Marjorie watched the carriage out of 
sight, and then brushing tears from her eyes, she 
went slowly back to the house. 

How good he had been to them ! His visit was 
not only of ceremony, but one of affection, and he 
had wished to show others the estimation in which 
he held them. And, beside this, in the scene that 
had just been enacted in the Baroness's music- 
room, Marjorie felt that in some intangible way, 
too subtle for her as yet to fathom, Mr, Bonnycas- 
tle had been a silent witness for Rand and for 
herself. 


120 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


CHAPTER XX 

The hour for the musicale at the '‘Shelter'' had 
arrived, and in the long drawing-room, thrown open 
for the first time in many years, the polished, 
waxed floor and silver candelabra reflected a soft 
radiance from innumerable candles. 

Besides several guests and the musicians, a ca- 
terer and waiters had arrived from the city near by. 
The Baroness herself, however, superintended the 
lighting of the house, and as her figure gradually 
emerged from the darkness of the drawing-room, 
the light touched softly the rich folds of her silk 
gown, and an exquisitely carved cameo pin, that 
her husband had brought her from abroad, and 
that she had fastened at her throat. 

She was still a little lame, and leaned heavily 
on her cane as she passed slowly through the spa- 
cious room, her eyes lingering with haughty satis- 
faction upon the handsome old furniture, the rare 
paintings and pieces of bric-a-brac. 

The silver candelabra and the oval mirrors, with 
sconces on each side, from which there fell long 
crystal pendants, seemed, however, to be the espec- 
ial objects of her interest. Examining these an- 
tiques, bought in with the house, Madame’s face 
relaxed from the severity that characterized it, and 
one realized that with her fine head and classic fea- 
tures, that she might have been called unusually 
handsome had it not been for the strange scar 
that the household at the “Shelter” had come to 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


121 


watch with almost tragic interest, since it seemed 
to be a sort of danger signal that gave warning of 
its owner’s passionate moods. 

She had not noticed that the candelabras were 
marked with the initial of the former owner. This 
was a little awkward, but they were solid silver, 
and she stood admiring, seemingly loath to move 
on, When, shivering, she realized that the room, 
closed for many m.onths, was chilly. She was re- 
minded of a very beautiful old lace scarf that she 
possessed and that had been laid away for some 
time. Striking her cane sharply against the floor, 
she moved away now in hurried search of Miss 
Araminta, who, with a lighted candle in her hand, 
ascended to the attic to open a certain cedar chest 
in which it had been stored. Before her son’s 
death, on his return form a trip abroad, he had 
brought her this scarf of Point de Venise, a rare 
pattern made for a lady of rank. She recalled now, 
with a throb of the old affection for her only son, 
his appearance, and the charm of his manner, as he 
had folded the scarf about her shoulders, relating 
an amusing experience incidental to his securing 
this treasure for her, that some day, he declared, 
she was to give it to his wife. Fastened to the 
scarf there had been a card upon which her son 
had written his name, and beneath, in her own 
peculiar chirography, she had written her own 
name, and “For my son's wife.’’ 

The lace scarf had been stored away and never 
worn, for her husband had died and not long after 
there had come, what was to her, the tragedy of 
her son’s marriage. 

It struck Madame d’Holbret that Miss Araminta 
had remained in the attic longer than seemed nec- 
essary. She rose, with an impatient gesture, and 


122 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


Stood waiting at the foot of the attic stairs as she 
saw the elderly spinster slowly descending the 
steps, the box in her hands. She was so pale that 
even Madame d’Holbret, who, probably very rarely 
thought of her as a human being at all, was struck 
by it. and having explained that she had searched 
over the chest before finding the box Madame 
fitted a tiny key that she had worn for many years 
on her bunch, and pressing back the lid, gazed 
' — into an empty box ! 

Her astonishment was so great that for several 
minutes she did not speak and then she turned 
toward Miss Aramiata. ‘'Since a few days ago I 
spoke of this scarf to you, when no one else was 
present, I hold you responsible,’' she said, with icy 
coldness. 

With trembling fingers, Miss Araminta took the 
empty box from Madame’s hands, but made no 
reply. 

“I ask you, Araminta, if there was any one 
present beside yourself, when I spoke of this lace, 
its unusual value, and where I had laid it away?” 
Madame d’Holbret’s voice was not only sharp, but 
beneath her glance it was impossible to resort to 
the slightest subterfuge. 

“No — that is, I don’t think so,” Miss Araminta’s 
reply was so low that it was difficult to catch her 
words. 

Madame d’Holbret heard her, however, and as 
she did so over her face there passed a singular 
transformation. “I recall now that Mrs. Wyngate 
was present, and so do you, I see,” she said 
harshly. “Yes, it was this Marjorie Wyngate who, 
from some strange coincidence, bore the same name 
as the daughter-in-law whom she had despised, and 
whose child reminded her constantly of her own 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


123 


son in his infancy. The scene in the library not 
many days before came before her, the passion- 
ate glance with which her husband had looked into 
the eyes of the young woman, an employee in her 
service. She had every reason to believe that this 
Mrs. Wyngate had stolen, not his love — she real- 
ized that he had never given this to her — but his 
allegiance. Now HER hour had come! 

Her expression of elation was so great that 
Baron d’Holbret, coming into the room, was 
struck by it as he offered his arm to his wife to 
escort her to the drawing-room, and his manner 
became a little absent, speculating as to what had 
brought about the smile, almost of triumph, with 
which she had received him. 

Miss Araminta stood watching them until they 
crossed the hall and, joined by several guests, en- 
tered the drawing-room, and then she did a very 
strange thing. Locking the door, and looking 
fearfully around — this fragile, faded maiden lady, 
who had grown gray and broken in her thirty 
years service for her patroness and whose integ- 
rity was so beyond doubt that it had never been 
questioned — drew from beneath a loose jacket that 
she wore a package, done up in blue paper, from 
which there fell, as she opened it, a lace scarf of 
such exquisite texture that it seemed difficult to 
believe that it had been wrought by human hands. 
As the yards of lace fell over the faded satin gown 
in which Miss Araminta had arrayed herself for 
the evening’s entertainment, a smile came to her 
lips. She held it up admiring it and then unlocked 
the door, and again looking fearfully out into the 
hall, she almost ran up the stairs to the room oc- 
cupied by Marjorie Wyngate, 


124 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


CHAPTER XXI 

Marjorie stood before the long pier glass that 
always reminded her of her mother, preparatory 
to making a hasty toilette for the evening. She 
had been detained down stairs by Doctor Pell, who 
had stopped to tell her of the fox chase, and the 
accident that had occurred. Mrs. Clay’s beautiful 
blooded mare, “Bonny Kate,” had fallen as Ap- 
polina was taking a flying leap over a stone wall, 
and it was feared that the mare would have to be 
shot. Marjorie was so preoccupied with the thought 
of distress that this would occasion Mrs. Clay that 
she dressed herself somewhat absently, in the 
heavy silk of ivory whiteness with touches of lace 
at the throat and sleeves that she had taken from 
her trunk. Rand, standing by, and so pretty in a 
blue suit, with a boutonniere, that Marjorie 
stopped several times in her toilette to kiss him, 
when drawing her down to him, he pinned on the 
braids that formed a coronet about her graceful 
head, a bunch of red holly berries, and green 
leaves. As Miss Araminta opened the door she 
stopped with an exclamation of pleasure upon her 
lips. 

“You are charming! You need but one thing: it 
is chilly in the parlors, could you not find some- 
thing light like lace you could throw about you?” 

“That reminds me of a scarf that I had not 
thought of for years!” Marjorie said, smiling. 

“We haven’t a moment,” Miss Araminta replied, 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


125 


hastily throwing the lace scarf about Marjorie's 
shoulders. “The musicale is about to begin, and 
you will be too late for your number." 

Marjorie glanced at Miss Araminta, wondering 
at her agitation; she had no time, however, to re- 
ply, and clasping Rand’s hand, they hurried down 
to the drawing-room. 

Although most of their guests had arrived, the 
Baroness and her husband stood near the center of 
the room. While Baron d’Holbret could easily 
have been taken for his wife’s son, they were unus- 
ually striking in their appearance, and this dispar- 
ity in their ages doubtless only added to the in- 
terest with which all eyes were turned upon them. 
Nothing more heightened this interest, however, 
than the report that the young man who had mar- 
ried their elderly hostess, was a French Baron, and 
with the delightful adulation with which our great 
American commonwealth bows down before a title, 
the whole countryside would have flocked to the 
home of the Baroness, had it received invitations. 

Marjorie, , with Rand close to her, took her seat 
with the musicians back of the grand piano, sur- 
rounded by palms and potted plants that almost 
hid them from sight. She spoke only once, then, 
the Baroness for a moment having left the room, 
d’Holbret bent down toward Marjorie, his eyes 
burning with passionate admiration into her own. 
What he said, no one could hear, or will ever know, 
but certain it is that as Marjorie replied, he started 
back from her, growing as white as if she had 
struck him with a whip across his face. 

“I take that as a challenge,’’ he said bitterly, 
and lifting a glove that had fallen from her hand 
to the floor, he secreted it hurriedly, and passed on. 

It was Marjorie’s turn now to play, and taking 


126 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


her seat at the piano, she chose for her first selec- 
tion, '‘The Chase” (Die Jagd), by Rheinberger, 
then a Trantelle, and from this she fell into the 
tender strains of Wagner’s “Traume,” the theme, 
into which she threw a pathos of which she was 
unaware, recurring as an insistent hope that strove 
toward fulfilment. She was startled into sudden 
consciousness of her surroundings by an exclama- 
tion, followed by a low murmur, and as her hands 
fell from the piano she turned quickly and saw the 
Baroness standing near her. With one hand she 
held up a corner of the lace scarf. “Allow me to 
remark,” she said in an undertone — ^but of biting 
irony, “upon the similarity of the scarf worn by 
Mrs. Wyngate, and one that I have lately lost — 
I think she has overlooked a card that may throw 
some light upon the name of the owner.” 

Bewildered, Marjorie arose from the piano. She 
was conscious that the eyes of the company were 
turned upon her. For a minute she stood, the 
lights from the silver candelabras falling softly 
upon her, showing the purity of her upturned face, 
and her slender figure about which the scarf had 
entwined itself. She saw Rand’s brave little figure 
as he stepped before her, and then a breath soft 
as a zephyr blown from a celestial sphere, passed 
across her face and she was reminded of Mr. Bon- 
nycastle’s words, “there are spiritual forces arrayed 
on your side.” She felt something touch her hand 
and saw a card she had not before noticed, fastened 
upon the scarf. Taking it up she read slowly: 
“Charlotte Wyngate,” and then in the chirography 
that she now knew so well, “from her son — Law- 
rence Wyngate.” 

Madame d’Holbret, before her marriage then, had 
been named Wyngate, and since the card read from 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


127 


"'your son,” her, Marjorie Wyngate*s husband, 
Lawrence Wyngate, had been Madame d’Holbret’s 
son. The whole truth, like a revelation suddenly 
flashed across her. She became conscious now of 
the people in the room, of the many eyes turned 
expectantly upon her, awaiting her reply. 

'‘The manner in which the scarf came into my 
possession is easily explained, Madame,” she said 
calmly. “From the card attached to the lace, how- 
ever, I see that it was presented to you by your 
son, Lawrence Wyngate, who was my husband, 
and (with an expression of ineffable tenderness 
and pride Marjorie turned toward Rand) this 
child’s father.” 

Rand, his eyes beaming now that his mother 
was happy again, unconsciously held out his little 
hand. Madame d’Holbret made an instinctive 
movement as if she would take it, then turning in 
a dazed way toward Baron d’Holbret, she cried: 
“Is this true, Francis?” As she spoke she would 
have fainted had not her husband caught her in 
his arms, and then a convulsive trembling fell upon 
her face and limbs. 

“Non, non, Ma Chere !” the Baron cried, catching 
his wife in his arms. “It is not true. File est une 
imposteur !” 

Turning to the company, he spoke in a louder 
tone: “We regret that the music has been inter- 
rupted, but Mrs. Wyngate is laboring under a de- 
lusion. We will try to believe that she is sincere, 
since she has probably discovered that through 
something of a coincidence, her husband bore the 
same name as that of my wife’s son, and, it may 
be, that his wife and child, who died a year ago, 
may also have had names that were similar.” He 
turned now toward Miss Araminta, who like a 


128 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


wraith, but with menace in her eyes, had risen in 
a far corner of the room. She evidently wished to 
make some explanation, but with a laugh and a 
shrug of the shoulder, and touching his head in a 
way that might signify to the company that Miss 
Araminta was not mentally responsible, Baron 
d’Holbret signaled to the musicians, and the ladies 
and gentlemen, with an effort to regain their com- 
posure, turned to listen to the strains of “Madame 
Butterfly.’' 

Seated back of the palms, with Rand’s hand 
clasped within her own, it seemed hours to Mar- 
jorie before the musicale came to a close, and the 
guests, having made their adieux, were driven 
away. 

With Rand asleep, resting closely against her, 
they were at last left alone. After a while some 
one crept softly down the stairs and put out the 
lights. Still Marjorie did not move. The silence 
was so intense that she could hear the tumultuous 
beating of her heart as it beat for her boy, her 
brave, beautiful boy, who would now at last come 
into his own! As he opened his eyes, she gath- 
ered him in her arms, and together they made their 
way through the darkened house up the stairway. 
It was only as they passed the door of the room 
occupied by Baron d’Holbret that she shuddered. 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


129 


CHAPTER XXII 

The morning after the musicale at the “Shelter,” 
the household slept late. At dawn, Marjorie Wyn- 
gate, who had not retired, knelt in a loose white 
negligee, her heavy hair hanging about her should- 
ers, before a small cabinet from which she had 
drawn forth a package of old letters, souvenirs of 
her short married life. From these she selected 
one written to her husband by his mother, and 
carefully spreading it before her, she noted how 
little change the years had made in the peculiar 
chirography that distinguished Madame d'Hol- 
bret. 

A line of pale light gliding into the room, sud- 
denly lengthened itself into one longer and grayer 
than the others, and looking up, somewhat startled, 
Marjorie saw, standing in the doorway — Miss Ara- 
minta ! 

With her finger on her lips, and glancing fear- 
fully around. Miss Araminta softly closed the door. 

“Do you blame me, my dear?” she asked, anx- 
iously, sinking into the chair that Marjorie drew 
up for her. 

“Was there no other way of bringing about the 
revelation as to our identity, if that is wfiat you 
wished; one where I might not haye , been , so 
cruelly incriminated before the public?” Marjorie 
replied. 

Miss Araminta leaned back wearily in her chair, 
and an unsteady little sigh escaped from her lips. 


130 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


'‘Our best laid plans rarely turn out as we ex- 
pect! I hoped that Madame would realize by this 
time the fraud that has been perpetrated upon her 
by the Baron d'Holbret, and as the truth dawned 
upon her, her pride in Rand would be so excited 
that before that large company she would acknowl- 
edge him — she would liked to have done so, he was 
so sweet as he held his hand out to her !” A smile, 
faint and evanescent, suddenly transformed Miss 
Araminta from a gray shadow into one who had 
known youth. "Of course, when your identity was 
established, it would have been easy for me to ex- 
plain that I took the lace scarf and placed it about 
you. Indeed, I expected to lead up to the revela- 
tion concerning your and Rand’s relationship to 
Madame. Baron d’Holbret has been studying the 
family history a little of late, however; he has 
doubtless found that next to Rand, I am Madame’s 
next of kin; that her son, Lawrence Wyngate, your 
husband, was the dearest object of my life. He 
realized that I knew too much, and when I would 
have explained, he discredited my sanity before the 
company ; he would not allow me to speak.” 

Marjorie rose and taking one of Rand’s hands 
that had escaped from beneath the coverlet, she 
kissed it and made it warm again before she spoke. 

How long has Madame d’Holbret been under the 
influence of this man?” 

"Not more than two years, I should think,” Miss 
Araminta replied thoughtfully. She is a woman of 
strong will and the Baron has not found it so easy 
as he expected to carry out his plans.” 

"Madame d’Holbret has also, as you know, vio- 
lent prejudices. Her feeling against you, however, 
Marjorie, you must realize might be expected. She 
loved your father, their wedding day had been 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


131 


fixed. He openly jilted her to marry your mother, 
a beautiful young Southern woman, who was striv- 
ing to retrieve the fallen fortunes of her family by 
singing in concert in New York City. Afterward, 
Charlotte Vosburgh (Madame d’Holbret is of 
Dutch descent), in a fit of pique, married Mr. Wyn- 
gate. He was a lovable man. She never cared 
for him, however, and in after years, when her 
only son was grown and wished to marry you, a 
daughter of the man who had treated her with 
such contumely, her opposition was intense. Real- 
izing his mother’s bitterness, Lawrence made me 
his confidant. He sent me a picture of you, and 
always with some doubts as to the representations 
made by Baron d’Holbret in regard to the death in 
an epidemic of Lawrence’s wife and child, when I 
saw you I felt sure that I was not mistaken.” 

”If I had only known this before!” Marjorie ex- 
claimed. would have explained what I consid- 
ered the unaccountable prejudice my mother-in- 
law manifested toward me. Why did not Law- 
rence tell me?” 

“Lawrence was very reticent,” Miss Araminta 
said, gently, “and he may not have known. I do 
not suppose you ever heard him speak of his friend 
at Oxford?” 

“Do you know what became of the man, F. Tal- 
bert, who was with Lawrence at the time of the 
accident that caused his death?” Marjorie asked 
quickly. 

“Did it ever strike you that Talbert was a myth? 
I have a theory in regard to it.” Miss Araminta re- 
garded Marjorie with something inscrutible in her 
eyes. “At the time of Lawrence’s death and many 
months afterward. I was ill in a hospital. When I 
left it and returned to my cousin, Mrs. Wyngate 


132 A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 

at that time, I found that she had fallen completely 
under the influences of Baron d’Holbret. She 
soon after married him, and now, as you know, 
she sleeps and wakes, comes and goes, as he 
wills.” 

The mention of Talbert recalled to Marjorie her 
vision at the time of her husband’s death — the two 
men and the dog, the ravine, the struggle on the 
swaying bridge, and the fatal thrusting of one of 
the combatants over the frail railing into the 
abyss. 

She rose, shivering as from cold. Miss Araminta 
had risen also, and stood looking at Rand, who un- 
conscious of all this tragedy in the world of grown- 
ups, smiled back at her in his innocent sleep. 
‘‘When surely a fragrance seems to exude from 
these fresh young souls.” 

The grayness of the morning closed about Mar- 
jorie after Miss Araminta left her. She sat still, 
too tired to think, whne aroused by a summon to 
see Mrs. Clay, who was waiting in the library to 
see her. 

Marjorie found her old friend full of the excite- 
ment felt in the countryside over the revelation 
made at the concert the evening before in regard 
to the identity of Marjorie and Rand as the daugh- 
ter-in-law, and grandchild, of the Baroness d’Hol- 
bret. 

“It seems past comprehension that we should 
have been so blind,” Mrs. Clay began. “Mr. Clay 
told me to tell you that as your advocate, he is no 
longer a ‘free trader,’ but favors ‘protection’ and 
will begin by placing a heavy ‘duty’ upon every 
wealthy woman who goes out of our country to 
marry a penniless foreigner. The Baron is, of 
course, not what he should be, but we must con- 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 133 

fess that he is distinguished looking and has most 
ingratiating manners. He has been kind to Appo- 
lina.” Two small crimson spots deepened in Mrs. 
Clay’s cheeks, and she then drew herself up with 
hauteur. “Of course no slander could ever come 
near our old and honored name. A name that came 
down from William the Conqueror and has distin- 
guished itself also in American history. Sometimes 
I fear though,” Mrs. Clay laughed nervously, “that 
my naughty child is becoming too audacious. Will 
you believe it. She declared she has been slan- 
dered for not spending more time with her hus- 
band, and she intends going to a fancy dress ball 
in the city to-morrow evening as a ‘teddy bear’ 
that she may ‘hug her enemies.’” 

“I can imagine then that Appolina’s embraces 
will be of a vigorous nature,” Marjorie replied 
smiling. 

“Of course you will not stay here, Marjorie,” 
Mrs. Clay said, rising to leave. “Mr, Clay would 
not hear of such a thing. He told me to give you 
some inspiring words from American history suita- 
ble to the occasion, but I cannot remember just 
now what they were.” 

“I have already made arrangements to leave,” 
Marjorie replied quickly, amused at the slight ex- 
pression of constraint in Mrs. Clay’s voice. “An- 
drew Markham says that Rand only needs ‘the 
fraish air o’ a fairm to make a mon o’ him.’ They 
leave early to-morrow, and Andrew and Janet are 
delighted at the prospect of our going with them. 
They have a farm across the river from the west- 
ern part of the state, near a large cotton planta- 
tion owned by Mr. Bonnycastle. Their little home 
is in the pine woods, and I think it will be good for 
Rand. I also will enjoy it for a few weeks, and I 


134 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


can decide what is best for me to do. I appreciate 
your kind invitation, however,, and that of Mr. 
Clay. Tell him that I thank him and shall cer- 
tainly see him before we leave.’' 

After Mrs. Clay had left her, Marjorie lingered 
for a few minutes in the conservatory, enjoying the 
beauty and fragrance of a few delicate plants, that 
had been brought in from the garden. She had 
turned to leave when her attention was arrested 
by a faint sound, and looking more closely, she saw, 
seated in a nook back of several large palms and 
potted plant's — the Baron d’Holbret. As their eyes 
met, he rose to his feet. 

“So our sweet Mistress Wyngate means to de- 
prive us soon of her society?” he asked, a faint 
sarcastic smile in his handsome eyes and curving 
lips. 

“Since the scheming of those who would deprive 
my young son of his rights here, make it impossi- 
ble to do otherwise.” Marjorie replied. 

Baron d’Holbret shrugged his shoulders and 
flicked the ashes from his cigar. 

“On every subject there are different points of 
view. For instance, from your flattering conversa- 
tion a few minutes ago, it appears that our good 
friend and neighbor, Mr. Clay, now favors ‘protec- 
tion,’ that he may place a heavy ‘duty’ on every 
wealthy woman who goes out of this country and 
marries a ‘penniless foreigner.’ He does not re- 
flect how difficult it is to overreach one of your 
Yankee nation, and that the ‘foreigner’ le pauve 
homme! frequently makes a bad bargain.” 

“He usually makes for himself a soft place.” 

“He may think so for a little while. Later on, 
he frequently meets some woman with whom he 
realized that life might have meant something 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


135 


more than the material. If she scorns him, then 
he seeks diversion with others.'' 

“An expedient that, in his own land, it may be, 
he can resort to with safety, but not here! In 
this community, if he would pull down an old and 
honored name by compromising, say, a neighbor, a 
young and attractive married woman — he is first 
ostracised by society and later on meets summary 
punishment at the hands of one of her male rela- 
tions." 

“So you would threaten me!" he said laughing 
and drawing nearer to her “Can we not make a 
compromise? Is there nothing that you would ask 
for yourself?" 

“I can imagine no extremity great enough for me 
so far to humble myself," Marjorie replied proudly. 

She left him standing — the lighted cigar still 
between fingers — the mocking smile upon his lips. 


136 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


CHAPTER XXIII 

A heavy frost still covered the ground — a pale 
shroud in which the garden had enveloped itself 
to bid Marjorie farewell. 

Near the fountain, where she had spent so many 
happy hours, she stood looking about her. In the 
water a tiny boat, one of Rand’s treasures he had 
failed to gather up, still floated about, and near by, 
she picked up his blue cap while with the other 
hand she patted the head of the great dog. Wolf, 
as he stood by wagging his tail and with a look 
of almost human intelligence in his eyes. 

At noon Mrs. Clay, Miss Araminta and several 
others assembled on the gallery to bid them fare- 
well. From the mistress of the house, Marjorie had 
received no word. Since the eventful evening of 
the musicale she had pleaded indisposition and had 
not issued from the seclusion of her chamber. 

Not many hours later, Marjorie and Rand, with 
the Scotchman and his wife were speeding swiftly 
across the state — from the oak trees, the long 
stretches of white turnpike and the rolling hills of 
middle Tennessee, toward the west, and the great 
river that they had never seen. Early the next 
morning they came in sight of its mighty ex- 
panse of turbid water, sparkling like goldstones in 
the sunshine, and in a village, several miles from 
its banks on the opposite side, Marjorie and Rand 
reached their destination. 

Andrew Markham’s farm lay out about a mile 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


137 


from the village, and as the days passed by the 
Scotchman, usually taking Rand with him, rode 
out early in the morning to his work, while Mar- 
jorie assisted Janet in making the cozy cottage im- 
maculate. 

Janet was a devoted housewife, and besides the 
daily cleaning, each week before the Sabbath there 
was the mahogany chest of drawers to be rubbed, 
and in the parlor brass and iron and candle sticks 
to be polished, until — had the Presbyters, who in- 
variably took dinner with Janet after the service, 
been inclined to thoughts of vanity, they might 
have seen their faces reflected in the shining brass. 

After awhile, Marjorie secured a place in the 
village school, and then Rand no longer rode with 
Andrew on Bullet out to his farm, or else followed 
the Scotchman as he worked with his flowers, or 
trained roses over the cottage porch. "‘A pair of 
weans,'’ Janet was in the habit of speaking of them. 
Now he walked by his mother’s side, his hand 
clasped in hers, to the village school. Thus the 
weeks passed swiftly by. 

Mr. Bonnycastle was still in India. Andrew 
had just brought in a long letter to Marjorie, that 
opened out for her a wonderful vista of thought. 
He wrote of the excavation toward which he had 
contributed a large sum, of the people and their 
customs, and ended by giving her a most interest- 
ing account of the Ancient Order that he spoke 
of as having brought down to us much that is most 
sacred from a period many centuries prior to the 
birth of Christ. It was in this Occult Brother- 
hood, known as the “Essenes” or the “Great School’^ 
that we have every reason to believe the Master of 
Masters, Christ Himself, became a proficient. Dur- 
ing his initiate of eighteen years, he is believed to 


138 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


have visited Persia and many Eastern countries, 
for everywhere we find a legend that *'a young 
teacher of marvelous power had appeared in their 
midst.” Mr. Bonnycastle's letter brought to Mar- 
jorie a thrill of fresh courage, of hope. 

For the moment she had overlooked another let- 
ter, addressed in a foreign handwriting, and bear- 
ing a crest. It was from d’Holbret. As she read 
the faint curve of her lip deepened into an expres- 
sion of astonishment. He wrote that his wife re- 
garded her as an imposter, whose name she never 
allowed mentioned in her presence. That there 
had been a development, however, in regard to her 
identity and that of Rand, of which he found it im- 
possible to write, but that necessitated a personal 
interview between them, and that since a business 
engagement would take him to Brinkley (a little 
town within twenty miles from where she was liv- 
ing), while he regretted that he could not spare 
the time to come to her, she might meet him and 
make possible an interview that would be greatly 
to the advantage of her son. 

The letter dropped from Marjorie’s hand. What 
was the meaning of it? She had written and con- 
sulted a lawyer in regard to Rand’s connection 
with Madame d’Holbret. Had this gentleman inti- 
mated to Baron d’Holbret that it would be advisa- 
ble for him to make a confession, to effect a com- 
promise of some kind? She was not without spirit 1 
She did not wish to do anything foolish, however, 
to walk blindly into some trap, planned by the 
subtle brain of d’Holbret. On the other hand, she 
was Rand’s guardian, his only friend, and it seemed 
cowardly to shirk an interview that might be to his 
advantage, that would at least give her a cue as to 
her farther mode of procedure in regard to his in- 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


139 


terest. But how could she go? Only one train 
passed through the village — what excuse could she 
make to Andrew and Janet; how could she leave 
Rand? Taking up the letter from the floor, Mar- 
jorie examined the date. Evidently there had been 
some delay in the mail, and the appointment that 
d’Holbret had made was for five that afternoon. 
Marjorie walked over to the window and stood 
looking out at the heavy fog that had settled upon 
the distant river. It was now two o'clock; she 
knew that no train passed through the village 
again that night. Probably after all the force of 
circumstance had made it impossible for her to go 1 

Beneath the window a man was talking to An- 
drew Markham and suddenly Marjorie’s attention 
was arrested by the word ^'Brinkley.” Several 
tourists were going over to Brinkley, the man was 
saying, and there was a vacant seat in the hack 
that he had engaged, but something had prevented 
his going over. 

‘'Can you tell me how long it will be before the 
hack leaves?” Marjorie asked, bending from the 
window. 

“Only a few minutes,” the man replied respect- 
fully, taking off his cap. 

“Do you think that I could secure the vacant 
seat? I have just received a letter that makes it 
important that I should go to Brinkley, Andrew,” 
Marjorie said with slight hesitation. 

“But what ’ill ye do about Rand?” the Scotch- 
man regarded Marjorie with astonishment. “A lad- 
die near o’ ten is too heavy to be hauded in yo 
lap!” 

“I think that I shall have to leave him with you 
and Janet,” Marjorie replied, with a faint smile. “I 
have never left him an hour in his life, but hope 


140 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


to return in a few hours. Tell him, when he comes 
in, that 1 will be back on the next train.'' Pinning 
on her hat, and slipping quickly into a long cloak, 
Marjorie followed the man into the one small hos- 
telry that the village afforded, and having mounted 
the hack that stood before the door, the party 
started on their long drive. 

The fog had lifted from the river and now de- 
scended in a fine rain that obscured everything ex- 
cept the heavy clay road over which they traveled. 

Marjorie was disappointed, for she remembered 
that in going over to Brinkley, Andrew Markham 
had said that she would pass a fine plantation 
owned by Mr. Bonnycastle, and from a box of pe- 
cans and several strings of quail that had arrived 
for Rand from some unknown source, she had an 
idea that Decimus Clay might be in the neighbor- 
hood. She had not thought of Decimus often in 
these months that had passed since she had seen 
him, and she remembered him now with some com- 
punction of conscience for not having answered his 
letter. Probably the thought of Decimus was sug- 
gested by something else, the sense of protection 
that his presence had always brought to her. She 
was beginning to be frightened. The three traveling 
“tourists" who were her companions in the hack, 
from being slightly jovial after frequent potations 
from a suspicious looking bottle, had become hila- 
rious. and this had culminated in a dispute that 
would soon end in a quarrel. They were travel- 
ing through a dense wood of pine, soon, however, 
they would reach a “half-way house" where the 
horses, exhausted by traveling through the heavy 
loam, would be changed, and trying to close her 
ears to some of the expletives that were now 
being freely used, she thought of the interview be- 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


141 


fore her. In taking the trip she had acted impul- 
sively. The improbability of Baron d’Holbret hav- 
ing come to this part of the world on any business 
matter, suddenly presented itself to her, and she re- 
membered him as she had last seen him, the mock- 
ing smile on his lips. At the same time her boy’s 
face rose before her; its expression of innocent in- 
tegrity as he had begged her ‘'not to believe a word 
that the Baron said.” Should she go on? As she 
hesitated some words from one of her traveling 
companions brought her to a sudden resolution, 
and slipping, unnoticed, from the back of the vehi- 
cle, she walked to one side of the road where she 
was hidden from sight. She stood watching the 
hack as it gradually receded from sight, her slight 
figure in its long cloak seeming to melt into and 
become a part of the general grayness that per- 
vaded the landscape. Twice a pedestrian passed 
her, rough and kindly looking men who watched 
her curiously as long as they were in sight. No 
sound broke the stillness save the swoop of the 
wings of a great bird that settled down near her. 
Marjorie’s heart stood still with fear. She heard 
Rand call her name! Turning, she walked toward 
the village from which she had come. When she 
had walked some distance she took her seat on a 
low rail fence that extended along the roadside. 
Doubtless some vehicle would come along in time 
and take her up ; if not, she would wait until she 
was sufficiently rested to continue her walk. Since 
she had turned back her heart had grown light ; she 
was very tired though, and with half closed eyes 
she leaned wearily against the trunk of a tree. In 
front of her, some distance off. the road wound up 
a small hill between red banks of clay. 

Down this hill a horseman was coming. At 


142 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


first he looked quite small, a mere speck, but as he 
drew nearer Marjorie realized that he was a large 
man, riding a spirited horse; that he presented a 
very different appearance from any other man 
whom she had seen in this part of the country. 

She watched him still with her head thrown back 
and half closed eyes, until he drew near, and then 
she suddenly straightened up. Certainly here was 
something too good to be true — it was Decimus 
Clay ! 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


143 


CHAPTER XXIV 

As Decimus drew near he did not see Marjorie 
until his horse shied, and then he looked at her for 
a moment thinking that probably he was suffering 
from some hallucination, that he saw a vision! It 
was not until he was certain that it was without 
doubt Marjorie in the flesh, that he sprang down 
from his horse with a cry: “Marjorie! Out here 
on the roadside, miles from any habitation, in the 
rain. What does it mean?” 

■? In the relief the sudden protection that his pres- 
ence brought to her, Marjorie’s nerves that had 
been on a tense strain for the past hour, relaxed, 
and she burst into a laugh that brought to her 
face dimples that — so often in the most stressful 
moments some insignificant memory will recur to 
us — she remembered Decimus had objected to 
when they were very young. 

“I realize that my position must seem a little 
absurd,” she said. “I had started over to Brink- 
ley; there were several commercial tourists on the 
hack and their conduct was abominable, beside I 
remembered some words of Rand’s that had so 
much weight with me that I decided to return.” 

“But why were you going over to Brinkley with 
such a company and on so unpropitious a day?” 

Marjorie remembered that, in all probability, 
Decimus had not heard of the discovery of the re- 
lationship of Rand to Madame d’Holbret, of the 


144 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


circumstances under which she had left the “Shel- 
ter/' and she hesitated before replying. 

“Since you do not seem inclined to answer me, 
will you tell if you were going over to meet some- 
one?" Decimus asked. 

“I was* going over to meet Baron d’Holbret, 
Decimus," Marjorie said hastily, “the husband, 
you know, of the Madame d’Holbret who bought 
my old home, and in whose employment I re- 
mained for several months. There is much I would 
have to explain to you for you to understand." 

“Do you mean the man who aunt writes has 
made common gossip of a young woman who was 
so imprudent as to be seen with him on his door- 
step at dawn on the morning that I came over to 
bid you farewell?" As Decimus spoke he caught 
Marjorie's hand. He had grown very pale, and 
his glance frightened her. “Do you know what I 
would do, Marjorie, if I thought any man had 
gained an undue influence over you over a woman 
whom I loved?" 

Marjorie had also grown pale; in her expression 
as she looked steadily into Decimus' eyes there was 
something as cold, as determined as his own. 

“Doubtless you would kill him," she said in a 
low tone. 

Decimus dropped Marjorie's hand, and stood 
looking at her. He then buried his face in his 
hands. 

A man could commit but one sin against a wo- 
man that she would desire his death! 

When Marjorie understood the construction that 
had been placed upon her words, a flood of crimson 
passed over her face, and she turned with a cry. 

“You cannot think that, Decimus! There is no 
man upon earth whom I love, NOW." She drew 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


145 


herself up proudly, “whom I would even think of 
loving. My only thought has been my child, who, 
this foreign adventurer, d’Holbret, means to de- 
spoil. He has persuaded his wife that Rand, the 
child of her son, perished a year ago in an epidemic 
and now his machinations have turned us adrift 
upon the world. The revelation in regard to our 
relationship to Madame d’Holbret has only come 
to me lately, I did understand, however, that this 
man would drag an old and honored name into the 
dust and^ — I do not know that I was right — but I 
allowed my own reputation to suffer that I might 
save from humiliation these people who had been 
my friends.” 

The color came back to Decimus’ face, happiness 
to his eyes, and as Marjorie finished speaking, he 
touched her hand to his lips. 

“Forgive me,” he said humbly, “if a heart that 
has known but one devotion in the past, will know 
but one love in the future, can atone.” As he spoke 
he lifted her gently on his horse. 

For some time they proceeded in silence, Mar- 
jorie riding, Decimus walking by her side. 

It was now five o’clock, the sky had cleared, af- 
ter the rain there was a sweet, damp freshness in 
the air, redolent of the pine wood through which 
they passed. In the distance they could see the 
river, which caught a lurid reflection of the sun- 
set on its eddying yellow surface. 

The face of Decimus had regained its usual se- 
renity, while, from time to time, Marjorie glanced 
at him with a new shyness. Her heart had grown 
strangely light, as with Decimus, she rode over this 
almost untrodden path. 


146 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


CHAPTER XXV 

Decimus left Marjorie at the gate of Andrew 
Markham’s cottage. She was to have met Baron 
d’ Holbret at five o’clock, and he determined to ride 
rapidly over to Brinkley with the hope of reaching 
there before that gentleman left. He was too late, 
however. Several people had seen a “distinguished 
foreign looking gentleman,” but on not meeting 
Marjorie he had evidently made a hasty departure, 
and there was nothing for Decimus to do but to 
wend his way slowly back to his plantation, ten 
miles distant. This place, extending along the 
banks of the river, had been in the Bonnycastle 
family for many years, and while Mr. Robin Bon- 
nycastle, living in another state, and absorbed in 
scientific pursuits, had rarely visited it, he had 
kept it up in conformity with the munificence that 
had characterized life on these large cotton plan- 
tations in ante-bellum days. 

The plantation was several miles in extent, and 
partly encircled by a lake, which in the shape of a 
horse-shoe, reflected on its bright water the white 
cabins and green yards of the opposite bank. On 
the right side, a little farther on, lay the river; 
on the left, a cotton field of one thousand acres, 
laid out in the regular lines of a chess board, and 
at some distance apart, were sheds, each with its 
cistern and lightning rod, to shelter the negroes in 
case of storm. The cotton gin came next with its 
immense boiler and machinery to separate the seed 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


147 


from the cotton, and a sawmill to cut into regular 
lengths huge trunks of walnut, live oak, and cot- 
tonwood. Next came the planter’s house, a simple 
building, with galleries extending along the front 
and back — but a home of kindly and generous hos- 
pitality. No table could be better supplied, for the 
lake was filled with fish, over which the teal duck 
hovered, watching for their prey to come to the 
surface. In the woods there were deer and wild 
turkeys. Pecans and other nuts were plentiful, figs 
required but little cultivation, and the richest and 
sweetest milk was provided by the cows which 
grazed on the cane that grew on the outskirts of 
the plantation. After the planters house came an 
enclosure called the ''quarters,” or negro village. 
In this, adjoining the pretty little home of the 
overseer, there were two hospitals, one for the men, 
the other for the women, with rows of white cots 
and a nursery presided over by an old woman, who 
had charge of the children in the absence of the 
mothers in the field, and who also prepared the 
Coffee which each field hand took before going into 
the field, to enable him better to resist the malaria 
of the country. 

In the distance Decimus could now see the plan- 
tation bell, suspended high above the cabins, a 
grim sentinel overlooking the plantation. 

Within the last few weeks his attention had been 
turned to the supervision of a new levee to resist 
the encroachments of the water. He had not had 
sufficient force to complete it, however, and since 
the incessant rains had given cause for fear of an 
overflow, he felt anxious. He was not thinking of 
this now, but of Marjorie. Of his astonishment at 
seeing her seated on the roadside, and of their con- 
versation. The humiliation that the folly of Ap- 


148 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


polina would in all probability bring to his uncle 
and aunt, and the singular influence that this man, 
the Baron d’Holbret, exercised over all whom he 
would have fall into his power. As he thought of 
this, Decimus’ handsome face grew dark, and then, 
with a glow at his heart, his thoughts again re- 
verted to Marjorie — to days in their childhood 
when in a iittle pink fluted sunbonnet, she had fol- 
lowed him about, or he had escorted her to school, 
carrying her books, and when necessary fighting 
her battles. Of another day, just before he had 
gone off to school, when he had placed one of her 
curls tenderly in his Bible. Then, two years later, 
just before he was to matriculate from college, the 
letter he had received telling him that she was to 
marry Lawrence Wyngate. He had not seen her 
since, until a few months before, when he had re- 
turned to visit his old home, and he found her 
little changed, the light in her eyes as true, and the 
sweetness about her mouth, with the dimple to 
which he had always pretended to object, as dear 
to him as ever. He saw, however, that she had 
given her whole life and heart to her boy, and, 
with a sigh, Decimus suddenly realized that he 
was traveling over a very bad country road. Shiv- 
ering, he drew his raincoat about him. The mist 
had changed into a driving rain, blotting out the 
fields of cotton, and the tall river bluffs beneath 
which he could see the white sails of a boat pass- 
ing from the shore through the mist and rain. 

A few minutes later he reached his own door, 
and old ‘T.ije” running out with a lantern to meet 
him, divested him of his wet outer garments. Af- 
ter stirring the huge logs into a brighter blaze, 
Lije drew down the shades and then the old man, 
kneeling down, took off Decimus’ wet shoes. A 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


149 


few months before Decimus had been taken down 
with ague and fever; up to that time he had only 
thought of planting from a commercial standpoint; 
since then it had appealed to him in a very dif- 
ferent way. In the long weeks that he had lain 
with burning fever, his country doctor, and the ne- 
groes on the plantation, had constituted themselves 
his nurses, and where had he found kinder hands 
than these brown ones, that smoothed his pillows 
and held cooling drinks to his parched lips? After 
this, Decimus understood the attachment that, in 
many instances, still exists between the ex-slave 
and his old master. After Lije had divested Deci- 
mus of his wet shoes, he stood regarding him anx- 
iously. 

“Won't you please, Marse Decimus." he blurted 
out, “just swear around a little, sociable like some- 
times, so I’ll know that you’re gwine to get well?’’ 

Laughing, Decimus took from his pocket a plug 
of tobacco that he presented to the old man, who, 
beaming now, went out. 

Stretching his long limbs comfortably, Decimus 
sat looking into the glowing embers. On the wall 
there were a few good pictures, at his feet, hand- 
some skins of animals that he had killed himself 
on a hunt that he had taken for “big game’’ into 
Africa, and also into the Rocky Mountains. Late- 
ly — since those nights when he had lain awake, 
hour after hour, burning with fever he realized 
that there had been a great change in him. He 
thought of bloodshed, even of these wild creatures 
with abhorrence, and yet — he sought justifiably the 
life of Francis d’Holbret. The way in which Mar- 
jorie had spoken gave him an idea of the intensity 
of her feeling against him. With all of Marjorie’s 
sweetness, she was very intense, beside, she had 


150 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


been laboring under a nervous strain for several 
hours, and spoke under a stress of feeling. 

Almost unconsciously he stretched out his hand 
and took up the little Bible in -which for so many 
years Marjorie’s curl had lain undisturbed, and 
opening it, he saw — “Who shall ascend into the 
mountains of the Lord? The innocent in his hands 
and clean of heart.” Turning the pages his eyes 
fell upon the words, “Blessed are the pure in 
heart, for they shall see God.” They shall see 
God! What was the meaning of it, that they 
should see God here upon earth? Pondering upon 
this thought he rose suddenly and, walking over to 
the window, raised the blind and stood looking out 
upon the river. 

He had no need for books here. The face of the 
river had become a book to him, never so wonder- 
ful a book written by man ! For each day it had a 
new story to tell, and listening closely, he had 
learned many of its cherished secrets. The day be- 
fore, however, as he had looked into its brown. 
Sphinx-like face, he had not only seen the trage- 
dies of the past, but had been filled wfith sudden 
foreboding for the present. Hurrying away he had 
consulted one of the oldest inhabitants and had 
been told that many years before the river had 
swept down the valley, submerging the village. 
Afterwards, a levee built that had allayed all fear 
for the public safety. After leaving his ranch for 
several years, he had rented the plantation from 
his uncle, he would accept it in no other way, and 
if he made a good crop this year he could buy it. 
He was not thinking of that, however, he was re- 
membering that in the village that had been sub- 
merged, Marjorie and Rand were now living. 

Twice in the night Decimus arose and looked 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


151 


out upon the river , foreboding in his eyes. It was 
not until the next evening, however, when, worn 
out with the day upon the levee, and vigil of the 
night before, he lay asleep that he suddenly sprang 
to his feet and stood listening. There came to him, 
faintly at first, growing louder and louder, the 
booming of a bell. The great plantation bell was 
tolling! This was never done except in case of 
great danger. Decimus ran out, and mounting his 
horse, raced toward the village in which he had 
left Marjorie and Rand the evening before. 


152 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


CHAPTER XXVI 

After Decimus left her, Marjorie walked with a 
light step between the beds of sweet Williams and 
Mignonette up to the cottage door. 

It was Saturday — the evening before the Sab- 
bath. Doubtless some of the Presbyters had al- 
ready arrived, and this accounted for the light that 
shone between the blinds of the parlor windows. 
No one was expecting her, and that she might give 
Rand a surprise, Marjorie crept in softly, and 
stood for a minute looking in at the half open 
door. 

In order to light the candles on the high mantel, 
Janet had mounted on a chair on which she now 
stood with a lighted taper in her hand, while Rand 
looked up at her, and back of him — Marjorie ut- 
tered a cry of pleasure — stood Mammy! 

“I was making a bow and arrow. Dearest, when 
I heard that you had gone away, and I was so 
much astonished at your going off without speak- 
ing to me/' Rand patted Marjorie's cheek, "‘that I 
cut my hand and I cried out. It was not because 
it hurt," Rand added quickly, remembering that 
he was no longer a baby, “I think it was because 
you were not here, and then — I looked up and saw 
Mammy, with her satchel in her hand, coming in 
at the door." 

*'Baron d’Holbret wrote and asked me to meet 
him at Brinkley, and advise with him, that it 
would be to your interest son," Marjorie said 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


153 


gravely. "‘On the way over I was reminded of 
something that you said about him, and although 
you are a little boy, I took your judgment in regard 
to a trait in his character and was deliberating 
whether it would not be better for me to return, 
when I heard you call my name. I thank God for 
it 

'‘Were ye sae near hame then?'^ Janet asked, 
with curiosity. 

“I was miles away, Janet, yet nevertheless I 
heard Rand cry.’^ Marjorie laughed, but in her 
tone there was perfect conviction. 

The practical Scotchwoman, not understanding 
this figurative language, shook her head incredu- 
lously, and yet — like most of the Scotch she had 
perfect faith in the “second sight.” Concluding 
that Marjorie was overwrought by her long ride, 
Janet brought her a warm drink, and taking off 
her wraps, she stirred the pine logs into a brighter 
blaze, while Marjorie, after examining the cut fin- 
ger, leaned back in her chair, looking first at Rand, 
and then at Mammy, grateful to be at home again. 
Almost too happy for words! 

“I am sure that when you saw Mammy, the pain 
must have been better,” Marjorie said. 

“It did me good,” Rand replied seriously. “But 
something hurt me here,” he put his hand on his 
heart, “that did not get well until I saw you.” 

Marjorie nestled her head against Rand’s little 
shoulder with a happy laugh. 

“I ha’ promised the laddie tae tak him over to 
Lynn wi’ me in the mornin’,” Andrew Markham 
said, coming into the room. “It’s only three miles 
awa’ ; he can ride the roan colt, an we gae by the 
river road.” 

“To be gone all day?” Marjorie exclaimed in 


154 A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 

sudden alarm. “You know the river is very high.** 

“I dinna think there’ll be a flood,” Andrew re- 
plied, “nae soon, an’ ye wad nae mak a baby o’ a 
big lad o’ nine !” 

“Going on ten,” Rand interposed modestly. 

“Why Rand is thinkin’ o’ enlisting in the airmy,” 
the Scotchman said, with a twinkle in his eye. 
“The last time we rode over to Lynn I found him 
with Andy Souter, who is going to be a sojer, in 

the office of the recruiting officer, but he wa’ 

found under age !” 

Marjorie did not see the humor of the situation — 
the idea of Rand growing out of his babyhood, 
and someone actually thinking of a vocation for 
him was such a shock. 

She finally gave her consent to the “outing” on 
condition that Rand was to return before night, 
and when the morning came and she watched her 
boy ride off on Bullet, his small figure so erect, his 
blue eyes beaming with pleasure, she stood waving 
her hand to him as long as he was in sight. As 
they rode along they were joined by Andy Souter, 
who lived near them, and who was going to Lynn 
to make his final preparations before leaving on a 
boat that was expected that evening, filled with re- 
cruits for the army and navy. When Andrew 
Markham stopped on the way and went into a 
house to speak to some one on business, Andy told 
Rand all about himself; he was sixteen, his mother 
was a widow, his father had died only lately, and 
he had a great many little brothers and sisters. 
He was going to send back all the money he made 
to pay off a mortgage on their plantation, and, 
when he got to be a general in the army, he was 
going to build them all a beautiful house in Wash- 
ington, and send his brothers to Princeton. 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


155 


As Rand listened, his heart ached. His mother 
had looked pale and tired lately, and, although she 
had tried to keep it from him, he knew that she 
often worried about money matters. If he were 
only old, like Andy, his Dearest One should never 
again have the little pucker that he had noticed 
come between her eyes when she added up her 
accounts, and they would have a home of their 
own where she should never know a care. Be- 
fore he had been satisfied with being a little boy, 
but now for the first time, he realized the dignity 
and opportunity implied by age. Andrew Mark- 
ham stayed in the house for some time, and the 
boys, having dismounted for a drink of water, when 
Andy turned his back Rand stood on tiptoes to see 
if he could not reach up to his ear and then he 
looked quickly around. 

There was no one to see him, however, only the 
broad expanse of the Mississippi, sombre and ma- 
jestic, fraught with tragedy and burying unfath- 
omed mysteries in its solemn depths. 

It was really old! Involuntarily Rand took off 
his cap before it. All else was young. As they 
had come off, Janet had said that there was to be 
a young moon to-night, and brushing the branches 
of the trees aside, he had noticed that they were 
green and bursting with bud. Even Bullet was 
young! The day before, a man who wished to buy 
the colt from Andrew Markham had said — Rand 
was perfectly acquainted with the Scotch dialect 
and he remembered the words — “The roan colt 
may have a pedigree as long as his legs, mon, ye 
say he is a thoroughbred, but thoroughbreds turned 
on ordinary paisture bear uncommon reseemblance 
to ordinary cattle. But then — he is young !’" 

Andrew had replied: “The roan colt may not be 


156 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


a hansom young beastie, but his grandsire won a 
great race at Lexington, and tho’ his descendant, 
taken from the blue grass of Tennessee, may have 
degenerated, he is a thoroughbred still ! The colt 
is nae mine to sell, howe’er, I ha’ gi’ed him to 
Rand.” 

As Rand remembered this conversation, he 
laughed, for he felt sure that some day there lay 
before Bullet a great race such as his grandsire 
had won at Lexington. 

After they reached Lynn, the day wore on only 
too quickly. Andrew Markham had expected to 
return in the evening at six o’clocl^. When the 
time arrived, however, he found that it would be 
impossible for him to leave before nine that night; 
he had promised Marjorie that Rand should return 
before six. A light wind had sprung up, and look- 
ing over the river, Andrew shook his head doubt- 
fully. Rand and Bullet seemed a little too young 
to trust alone. It would not be a long ride, how- 
ever, and one that Rand and Bullet had frequently 
taken with him. Marjorie would be uneasy; on 
the whole it seemed best that he should return, and 
having come to this conclusion, Andrew watched 
Bullet and his youthful rider start on their home- 
ward journey. Rand and the colt proceeded slowly, 
enjoying this first taste of freedom. 

Above them a few pale stars were shining; not 
long before there had been stars also beneath, the 
white blooms of the cotton that had deepened into 
a rosate hue, and then having given up long fleecy 
boles of cotton, the fields had assumed a hue of 
sombre brown. On one side la}^ the river, and as 
Rand gazed up and down its murky course, a 
steamboat hove into sight. From the prow 
streamed gay bunting, while from the deck cheers 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


157 


and strains of music reached the shore. He felt 
sure that this was the boat that Andy was to leave 
on, and in his excitement Rand sprang from Bul- 
let’s back and going nearer to the water, waved 
his cap and shouted — until the boat was swallowed 
up, a black speck in the distance. 

As they had come along in the morning Andrew 
had said: “Beginning here for several miles there 
extends a levee built by the Government, after an 
overflow that had submerged their village. That 
was some years before, however, and now might 
never happen again. 

Near him he saw what looked like a small red 
flower, and reminded of what Decimus Clay had 
told him of the lizard that simulated being a 
flower, he wished that his mother was with him. 
From a pile of brush near by, several small, shy 
creatures ran out, and looking down, he noticed 
that the river was seeping through a small hole in 
the levee. It seemed as if a minute before he might 
almost have stopped it with his hand — but now, it 
was rapidly widening, and he saw that the levee 
for several feet was giving away. 

He gazed at it for a minute, vacantly, dazed, and 
then a terrible conviction forced itself upon Rand’s 
mind. This innocent looking aperture was an open- 
ing through which a mighty torrent would soon 
pour, rushing down the valley, submerge the town, 
his home — his mother ! He must save her ’ He 
climbed quickly upon Bullet’s back — a word and 
the race began ! In front of them, several miles 
away, the hills among which the village nestled — 
behind, the river, rapidly increasing in volume and 
advancing now with a sullen roar. With his arms 
clasped about the colt’s neck, horse and rider 


158 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


seemed fused into one, scarcely touching the earth 
over which they passed. 

When he reached the village some one had al- 
ready made the danger known. With prayers and 
cries, people were running to the surrounding hills. 
Mothers clasping their babies in their arms, and 
the young and strong bearing up the old and in- 
firm. There was no thought of property, only that 
of life. 

In his own home he found no one. Had his 
mother been conveyed to a place of safety? He 
looked about the empty rooms in despair. The 
house was already filled with water, however, for 
the river was all about, a broad expanse of water 
extending on every side and rapidly filling up the 
town. 

Heedless of his own danger. Rand struggled on. 
Now the colt was flecked with foam, and blood 
dripping from his mouth, but he continued to swim 
bravely, bearing his light burden above the waves. 
Rand’s strength was failing rapidly and it was near 
his own home that he felt that the death from 
which he had tried to save his mother was near to 
him. He stood on the brink of eternity ! Looking 
back at his empty home, he cried softly, '‘Mother \” 

Above the roar of the water, he heard a shout. 
A man on a powerful horse breasted the waves, 
calling to him words of encouragement. 

Rand’s arms, falling from Bullet’s neck, were 
held out, and with his eyes turned up to the starry 
dome, the flood closed above him. 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


159 


CHAPTER XXVII 

When Rand regained consciousness he was 
borne up in the arms of Decimus Clay. He did 
not open his eyes again for several hours, and then 
his mother stood beside him. 

“It was water from the river of life that your 
poor old Mammy thought you’d be drinking, hon- 
ey !” he heard, in a well-known voice, and then his 
mother’s soft tones. 

“He who drinks of that water shall never be 
athirst !” Andrew Markham’s broad, cheery accents 
came to him, very distinctly. “I told you Rand 
was a lad o’ pairts ! The little laddie wa’ sair spent 
tho’ an’ if Decimus Clay hadna reached him as he 
fell frae the colt’s back, I doot but he would hae 
slippit frae us. There is naething the folk can do 
to show their thanks to Maister Clay, and to Rand 
to whom they owe their lives.” 

Rand smiled faintly, he could not speak. 

“The wee bit coltie did his part weel,” Andrew 
went on chuckling. “The puir beastie is a thor- 
oughbred after all !” 

And now Rand knew for certain that he must 
be alive, for he heard his mother say, in her clear, 
sweet voice: 

“Indeed he is, Andrew ! Rand, and Mr. Clay, 
and the roan colt are thoroughbreds — all three!” 

As Rand fell once more into a peaceful sleep, he 
could hear Mammy chuckling to herself, as she 
sat by the bedside fanning him, and anxiously 


160 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


watching every change in his expression. Then 
Andrew’s firm steps sounded quite loud to him as 
he walked across the room, trying not to make a 
noise. These, too, gradually died away, and then 
the little boy fell into a happy oblivion. 

On the evening of the flood, Marjorie had stood 
looking with happy, expectant eyes, up the road, 
awaiting Rand’s return. In the distance she saw a 
horseman, coming at full gallop, like the wind, 
toward her. When he drew near and she saw that 
it was Decimus Clay, her heart stood still with 
fear. Something had happened to Rand ! Or — 
another thought suggested itself to her, Decimus, 
excited by her words, had gone over to Brinkley 
and killed Baron d’Holbret. She had no time to 
think, for Decimus, having reached her, without a 
word, pointed to the distance and she saw what 
appeared to be a vast sheet of water, rapidly sweep- 
ing toward them. When she refused to leave with- 
out Rand, Decimus, giving the warning to Janet 
and others, as he went along, had taken her up 
bodily and carried her to one of the surrounding 
hills. After this, hours seemed to pass and then, 
as crazed with grief over Rand, she gazed with 
anguished eyes into the seething water. Decimus 
had returned to her, bearing Rand’s apparently 
lifeless body, and placed him in her outstretched 
arms. 

Since that day no one had seen or heard of Deci- 
mus! Andrew Markham, who had made his way 
to the village in a boat soon after the village had 
been submerged, said that he had seen him in a 
boat rowed by old Lije going toward his planta- 
tion; that as he swam to the shore with Rand, he 
had been struck by a floating log and badly in- 
jured, and when he could leave had been taken to 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


161 


the city and placed in a hospital. No one really 
knew, however, whether Decimus was still alive. 

As the days wore on, Rand did not regain his 
strength, and Marjorie in sudden alarm, sent for a 
physician. This functionary, however, after leav- 
ing a prescription and a few directions, took his 
departure without throwing any light upon Rand’s 
condition. A week later Marjorie sent to the near- 
est city for one of the most eminent members of his 
profession, and after an examination, he informed 
her that Rand’s heart was weak, that this had been 
greatly increased by the nervous shock that he had 
received in the flood, but little could be done except 
to avoid all excitement and that Rand must live 
in the open air. 

Rand, who had never allowed himself to be made 
a “baby” of, and who had always ‘taken care of 
his mother,” as he watched the shadow deepen in 
Marjorie’s eyes, laughed at their fears, declaring 
that “now since they were going to spend most of 
their time in the woods, like the old giant, Anteus, 
of whom his Mother had read him. every time he 
touched the earth he expected to gain strength, and 
finally he would kill the ‘Draygon’ of whom An- 
drew was going to tell him.” 

“What ’ill I tell ye? Abbo’ the draygon when he 
lived in a den, an fire an reek come out o’ his 
mouth when folks wa’ goin’ by?” Andrew asked, 
pleased at this tribute to his gift as a raconteur. 

“Yes, tell me that. Andrew, you told me when I 
was little, and I may never hear it again.” 

Andrew turned and looked at Rand quickly: “Ye 
mus’ go out in the sunshine, noo, laddie,” he said 
gently, and with a little quaver in his voice that 
the strong Scotchman could not suppress, “I’ll tell 
ye of the draygon anither time.” 


162 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


In this Southern climate May was warm and 
balmy, and as the days now passed, Rand and 
Marjorie lived close to the heart of the woods, re- 
newing their acquaintance with the birds and other 
small wild things, becoming each day more deeply 
versed in the lore that they loved so well. They 
knew just where the woodpeckers had stored their 
winter provisions, pecking holes in the trunks of 
the trees, in which they placed acorns, that, since 
the woodpeckers were not vegetarians, would de- 
cay, and filled with worms, provide dainty feasts. 
Where the chipmonks and the squirrels had their 
hiding places, and the birds built their nests. At 
first they only saw the bright eyes of these small 
shy things shining at them from a distance, but as 
time went on, they frequently drew near, no longer 
afraid of their human friends. Often Marjorie read 
aloud, or they gathered pine needles, and made 
them into cushions, while the shadow of fear in 
Marjorie eyes, as she watched Rand, deepened. 
There were times when they sat without speaking 
— moments, when obeying the inaudible but urgent 
command of silence, Marjorie’s soul, and that of 
her child, embraced, each listening to the other, 
with lips that were silent. 

In the long hours of a night of anxiety, Marjorie 
lay with wide open eyes. Attracted by a faint 
sound, she turned, and was surprised to see Mr. 
Bonnycastle seated near her. Rising, he came 
toward her, and she noticed that his garment, made 
of some soft white material (in a fashion peculiar 
to the far East), scintillated as if with light. He 
took her hand, and she experienced a sensation of 
lightness, of rising on wings from a black pit of 
despair. 

“Remember, Marjorie,” he said, “there is no 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


163 


such thing as death. The transition that we call 
death is merely an incident in the life of the soul. 
The putting off or dispensing with the physical 
body does not in the least alter the nature, or 
character of the individual. Should Rand leave 
you, the physical alone would be cast aside, and 
this replaced by a body celestial, even more beau- 
tiful ! There are great fixed laws ; one of these is 
that we are each an essential part of the whole. 
It may be that Rand's innocent soul, his budding 
genius, are needed upon another plane, while your 
heart, now centered in your child, may go out to 
humanity with broader sympathy. We are God’s 
agents, visible and tangible agents, and we are 
here to help. I have an idea that I shall not re- 
turn to you again. This, however, will depend 
upon yourself. You are endowed with unusual at- 
tributes, and even here, in the flesh, it may be ” 

Mr. Bonnycastle did not finish speaking, but 
leaning over, he touched his lips to her forehead, 
and she experienced again the sensation of light- 
ness — of having risen on wings toward gates of 
peace. 

Marjorie opened her eyes — or had they been 
open all the time? She could not tell. 

Mr. Bonnycastle had said that there was no such 
thing as death. But there could be the agony of 
separation ! She did not understand the manner in 
which many accepted the death of their loved ones, 
placidly comforting themselves with a vague hope 
that they are somewhere — angels, probably! Or 
else in Purgatory awaiting intercession. She felt 
that she must KNOW. Then, as she had loved 
the living, she would love the dead, and wait! 

But Rand was not to leave Marjorie. As the 
color came back to his cheeks, vigor to his little 


164 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


body, Marjorie felt that God’s temples, the woods, 
were not large enough to hold her gratitude. At 
times she longed to be back in the Convent, where 
she was educated, to listen to the grand intoning 
of the '‘Magnificent,” or raise her voice, with the 
gentle nuns, in the beautiful Canticle, "My soul 
doth magnify the Lord!” 

Her thoughts now turned toward Decimus. Was 
he still alive? He had risked his life, it might be 
that he had given it, for that of her child. How 
faithful he had been through the years ! How 
brave and loyal is soul! She had written to him, 
giving as much expression of her gratitude as it 
was possible for her to convey. The letter had 
been sent to a hospital where it was said after the 
flood, he had been taken. She did not know, how- 
ever, whether the letter had ever been receivd. 

"Dearest” (Rand, still something of an invalid, 
held up to Marjorie a bouquet of wild flowers that 
Janet had brought him), "don’t you think that Mr. 
Decimus Clay must be very anxious to see us?” 

The color came to Marjorie’s face. Probably it 
was due to the fact that Janet turned and looked 
at her, and over the serious face of the Scotch- 
woman there was a slight twitching, as if from 
an effort to repress a smile. 

"I have written to Mr. Clay, darling, and now, 
since I can leave you, if it is necessary, I will go 
and nurse him.” 

"And if he gets well,” Rand put down his wild 
flowers, and drawing Marjorie down to him, nestled 
his cheek close to hers. "Don’t you think that we 
had better, after all, marry Mr. Decimus, Dearest? 
I think Mammy would be willing.” 

Janet was discreet enough to turn her head. As 
Marjorie kissed Rand no one could see her face. 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


165 


After this she regarded, with wistful eyes, the 
little postmistress in the village. The message that 
she expected, however, did not come. Instead, 
there came to her a letter with a black border. At 
the same time she received a telegram. This con- 
tained only a few words, and it was signed, ‘'Char- 
lotte d’Holbret.” 


166 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


CHAPTER XXVIII 

The message that Marjorie received was to the 
effect that her immediate presence was required at 
the “Shelter/' She stood, regarding the words, for 
a moment, finding it difficult to grasp their mean- 
ing. Then, with trembling fingers, she broke the 
seal of the black bordered envelope. 

It was not Decimus ! The letter was from Mrs. 
Clay to notify her that her brother, Mr. Robin 
Bonnycastle, had passed into the “Beyond," and 
consequently she would return home at once. Be- 
fore leaving she had seen her brother, who had 
just returned from the Orient, where he had ac- 
complished much in his researches for the “School 
of Science." Mr. Bonnycastle had wished that 
Marjorie should be informed of the disposition that 
he made of his property. 

To her (his sister) he left a large amount made 
from his works on scientific subjects, also his per- 
sonal property, with the exception of a portrait that 
was to go to Marjorie. His nephew, Decimus 
Clay, was the logical heir to the “entailed prop- 
erty." This property carried with it a condition, 
that of “celibacy," imposed by the eccentric legator 
of the will. Since Decimus was the last male, how- 
ever, to whom the property could revert, it was the 
privilege of Mr. Bonnycastle to make such dispo- 
sition of it as he wished, and he left it, without con- 
dition, to his nephew, Decimus Clay, and his heirs. 
To Marjorie Wyngate he left a legacy, for the sake 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


167 


of her mother, to whom he had given a **great and 
faithful love.” 

Marjorie bowed her head in her hands, remem- 
bering his kindness to her in the past, his thought 
for her in the future. Before his departure from 
the earth his spirit had come to her, at the sick 
bed of Rand, in what she had thought at the time 
to be a dream. He had awakened her to the fact 
that we may not center our affections upon any 
one earthly object. '‘No man liveth to himself,” 
an element of altruism is necessary to develop- 
ment. After this, his glorious spirit had traveled to 
the radiance of distant suns, leaving those who 
loved him here, in the shadow. 

The next evening from a little station that had 
once been her home, Marjorie alighted from a train 
and eluding a persistent hack driver, walked rap- 
idly down a road with which she was perfectly fa- 
miliar. She had gone for some distance when a 
crisp autumn breeze stirred the branches of the 
oak trees and blew the leaves in eddying gusts 
about her feet. Marjorie took up one of them and 
held it in her hand. Withered and brown, once on 
some high tree with the blue of the sky and the 
songs of birds near. Green sap had pulsed through 
its veins. Now it lay a trampled leaf by the road- 
side ! 

Before reaching the “Shelter,” she passed the 
home of the Clays. The blinds had not yet been 
closed and she could see Mrs. Clay bending above 
the invalids chair, Appolina’s child playing upon 
the floor, and a shadow larger than the others, 
whom she could not make out. 

As she drew near to her old home, the dog 
Wolf came bounding toward her, fawning upon her 
and showing every sign of delight at seeing her 


168 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


again, and then gravely escorting her to the house. 

The door was opened by Miss Araminta. She 
held a lighted candle in her hand, and Marjorie no- 
ticed that she looked ill and wan. '‘She cannot 
live!” Miss Araminta’s voice trembled. “And yet” 
— a smile transformed Miss Araminta’s face — “how 
changed she is! To her troubled soul has at last 
come peace.” 

Marjorie took Miss Araminta's hand, stroking it 
within her own. Strange as it seemed — for the 
cold, hard woman, her tyrant, who now lay dying, 
there had sprung up in the starved heart of the 
old maiden lady the gentle flower of love, keeping 
it alive, unwithered, through her lonely years ! 

Marjorie walked over to the window, and drew 
aside the curtains. The wind had risen, a cold 
wind that, sweeping from over the black wastes of 
night, stirred the oak trees and jarred the window 
sash and doors. 

Following Miss Araminta without a word, Mar- 
jorie ascended the broad stairway, and entered 
Madame d’Holbret’s room. On the teestered bed- 
stead (so replete with memories for Marjorie) she 
lay quite still, on her face, as Miss Araminta had 
said, a great peace. 

“You expected to find me dead, Marjorie Wyn- 
gate,” she said, smiling faintly, “but for the first 
time you find me alive. ‘A little child shall lead 
them.’ It was your child who has led me into 
Life — he was my son, my own little boy who had 
come back to me, the nobility of his nature, his in- 
nocent, childish prattle softened my hard heart. 
For the first time it was not money that I loved 
with a miser’s love, but it was to save it for the 
child that I hoarded it, secreting large sums from 
the man ” A great wave of bitterness swept 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


169 


over Madame d’Holbret's face, her voice had be- 
come so faint it was now scarcely audible — “The 
man, Francis d’Holbret, who lied to me and de- 
ceived me into believing that my son's child and 
his wife had perished, who afterwards was respon- 
sible for my turning them from my door — who 
struck me” — she touched the scar on her face — 
“and now forging has brought disgrace to my 
name! Can you forgive me, Marjorie, for the 
child’s sake?” 

“For His sake who has forgiven us all,” Marjorie 
said, kneeling by the bedside. 

Madame d’Holbret made a sudden effort to rise, 
called her son’s name, and fell back among the 
pillows . 


170 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


CHAPTER XXIX 

Not many hours after the stroke that had par- 
alyzed Madame d’Holbret’s speech, she passed 
quietly away out into the great unknown. 

When the end had come, Dr. Pell and Mr. Jas- 
per insisted that, worn out by the vigils of the 
night and day, Marjorie should rest. Her only 
desire, however, was to escape for a short time 
from the darkened house, and throwing a light 
shawl around her, she slipped through a side door 
out into the night. 

It was not late, she had heard the clock strike 
nine, as she passed through the hall, and now, af- 
ter softly closing the door, she stood taking in long 
breaths of air and enjoying the beauty of the night 
— the moonlit lawn and walks with the stately 
white yucca standing on each side like sentinels on 
guard. Only beneath the oak trees there were dark 
shadows. 

Marjorie walked slowly, going over the last few 
painful hours, and then, her mind traveling farther 
back she recalled the first day she had spent be- 
neath Madame d’Holbret’s roof. With what arro- 
gant scorn Madame d’Holbret had looked her over 
to '‘see if she would do.’' And then the long 
months that had followed until at last her char- 
acter had been assailed. She did not blame Mad- 
ame d’Holbret for that, however, the unhappy wo- 
man had died begging her forgiveness. And Rand ! 
When he returned to the “Shelter,” it would not 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT ^ 171 

be as a child whose presence was for a time barely 
tolerated, but as the heir coming into his rightful 
inheritance; A happy smile passed over Marjorie’s 
face, a few hours before she had received a letter 
from Rand, and she took from her bosom a folded 
sheet on which the text in round childish letters 
could be plainly seen. 

'^Dearest : 

“Mammy has just measured me on the 
door, and I am not much larger towards 
being a man to take care of you. But you 
have been away five days and Andrew 
Markham says nothing can grow without 
sunshine. I asked him if you stayed away 
for five weeks if I would not get to be a 
very very little boy, and he thinks I would. 

“Rand.” 

Why read it? Did she not know every word of 
it by heart, and could she not in fancy see Rand 
as he wTote — his long lashes resting upon his 
rounded cheeks, while Mammy and Andrew and 
Janet Markham hovering near, watched with pride 
his first epistolatory efifort. 

It was to the forethought and generosity of Dec- 
imus that they owed so much. He had bought in 
the “Shelter” for Rand. Fortunately, too, there 
was a large sum of money in the bank that the 
Baron d’Holbret, with all his craft, had never been 
able to reach, and this Madame d’Holbret had left 
to Rand. With this they would pay Decimus, but 
she knew very well that in his mind there had 
been no thought of payment. As Marjorie thought 
of Decimus she was surprised to find the color 


172 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


mounting to her face and her heart beats becom- 
ing a little more rapid. 

A few light clouds were drifting across the face 
of the moon, and a breeze began to stir among the 
leaves. She noticed a chill in the air and shivered. 
Beneath the shadows of the trees and over the 
moonlit spaces that lay between, Marjorie uncon- 
sciously accelerating her steps, walked rapidly, un- 
til becoming aware of an unusual sound, she sud- 
denly halted. 

Wolf had followed her and that accounted for 
the low deep growl that had reached her ears. 

She now stood near the aperture in the hedge 
that had been used as far back as she could remem- 
ber by the inmates of the two places, as more con- 
venient than walking around by the turnpike road. 
But, while this entrance in the hawthorn hedge 
was at one extreme end of the grove of trees that 
surrounded the “Shelter,” and fully half a mile 
from the house, it opened directly upon a small 
lawn in which stood the colonial mansion of the 
Clay's, with only a small clump of evergreens to 
intercept the view of the white corinthian pillars, 
and stone steps. 

It was in this thicket of arborvitae and cedar 
that Marjorie now thought that she saw something 
move. At the same time her attention was again 
directed to Wolf. The dog stood not far from her, 
still, alert, his hair bristling, a black, gaunt object 
silhouetted against the gray light. 

She would have turned to retrace her steps, but 
noticed that the something that had attracted her 
attention toward the evergreens moved also, that 
it was emerging from the shadow, taking definite 
shape, and she recognized as he came rapidly to- 
ward her — Baron d’Holbret. 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


173 


As their eyes met neither spoke. A mocking 
smile hovered about his lips. 

“The time, the place, and now — the lady,” he said 
lightly. 

Marjorie made a slight gesture toward the front 
door, plainly seen of the Clay home, and then, with- 
out replying, she laid upon Wolf a restraining 
hand. 

“How many things in this world you do not un- 
derstand !” he said slowly. “It is almost incredible ! 
May I point out to you that in every man’s life 
there are three women? One is the past, we will 
call her a regret, the next we might call a rebound, 
and the third ” 

“A recurrence?” suggested Marjorie, unable to 
restrain this sarcasm. 

“No, you are mistaken !” he drew a step nearer, 
and his voice grew soft, almost tender. “It is this 
woman, the woman whom he hoped to win but 
who eluded him, who could have saved him from 
the degradation of the other two. It is for her he 
longs, how deeply he can never tell !” 

He spoke with intense feeling. 

“Go and look upon the woman whom you mur- 
dered !” Marjorie said coldly, pointing toward the 
house. “The brain you controlled is still, the 
heart you broke no longer beats. But your wicked 
scheme has come to naught — for she died knowing 
all. I believe you brought about the death of her 
only son; I know you turned his young child a 
penniless orphan from her door.” 

Beneath Marjorie’s scorn d’Holbret winced as 
under the lash of a whip. But quickly recovering 
himself, his face flamed with sudden passion. 

“Do you know what you are doing?” he said, al- 
most roughtly, his voice coming thick and hoarse 


174 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


as she had never heard it. “In setting my brain on 
fire, not only with love, but with hatred, and re- 
venge, do you not realize your danger?'’ He ad- 
vanced toward her 

The dog slipped from beneath Marjorie's hand 
and she saw him bound through the air. 

As Francis d'Holbret, with a cry, shook him off, 
Wolf wheeled about and came at him furiously. 
His back was toward Marjorie, as the struggle 
began. 

She stood as if rooted to the spot. The scene 
was strangely familiar to her. She remembered her 
vision two men and a dog, upon a bridge that 
spanned a deep but narrow chasm. One man threw 
the other from the bridge into the ravine. The 
victim was her husband, the dog Wolf, the murderer 
Baron d*Holhret. 

Suddenly there was a loud scream close beside 
her. Escaping from the terror that held her mo- 
tionless, Marjorie now ran, panic-stricken through 
the endless mystery of shadows, of which she her- 
self seemed to form a part, until one shadow longer 
than the others suddenly enveloped her, held her 
close, and becoming warm and human, touched ten- 
derly her hair and cheek and chafed her cold hands. 

“Oh, Decimus ! Decimus !" she cried in agonized 
tones. “Do not stop here. Go quickly, there!" 
she pointed, with tremblng fiingers toward the 
thicket. 

“And leave you here alone?" Decimus looked at 
Marjorie, all his love in his eyes. “Beside," he 
said quietly, “it would be useless now. I came 
directly in your footsteps. d'Holbret may recover, 
but he will be horribly disfigured. The men are 
looking after him." 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


175 


“If the dog had only killed him!’’ said Marjorie 
fiercely. Overwrought, she burst into tears. 

“I think,” said Decimus gently, “that the worst 
punishment for such a wretch is to have to live 
because he is afraid to die. Wolf did his work 
well. The dog has been the avenger.” 


176 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


CHAPTER XXX 

The tragedy in the grove was a shock from 
which Marjorie did not soon recover. But she had 
no time to think of herself, for she and Miss Ara- 
minta had many sad offices to perform for their 
late employer. 

As Marjorie looked for the last time upon the 
face composed for its last sleep, she was struck 
with the thought that it was noble. Could it be 
that the impress left by the death angel upon the 
clay for all time is an index of the real character 
of its former tenant? 

Turning slowly away she descended the steps. 
At the front door she met Mr. Jasper and Dr. Pell, 
who were to spend the night in vigil, and stand- 
ing back of them was Mrs. Clay. 

She was so changed that Marjorie scarcely rec- 
ognized her, her proud head no longer held high, 
and her brilliant eyes dim with weeping. 

Taking her hands, Marjorie drew her old friend 
into the library, and making her comfortable, drew 
up close to her a small chair for herself. 

“Madame d’Holbret is not the only person who 
would ask your forgiveness, Marjorie,'’ Mrs. Clay 
wiped the tears from her eyes. 

“Do not think of it!” said Marjorie, earnestly. 
“All the kindnesses I have received from Mr. Clay 
and yourself since my childhood would certainly 
condone your ” she hesitated, “one misunder- 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


177 


Standing. I can assure you it is not only forgiven, 
but forgotten, and now tell me ” 

“The Baron d’Holbret, who as we know now to 
have been F. Talbert, afterwards the Baron d’Hol- 
bret, and the companion on his last excursion of 
your husband. Remembering this, can I find it in 
my heart to say, poor wretch! Appolina stood 
watching you both in the grove, and when she saw 
the attack made by the dog, she screamed and fled 
in utter terror to the house. Decimus and one of 
the men on the place heard her and came to the 
rescue — when they reached the spot the struggle 
was almost over. Wolf had been shot. Appolina 
cried out something incoherent about having seen 
you, and Decimus hastened off in search of you, 
while the man came to the assistance of d’Hol- 
bret. He says that he was covered with blood and 
frightfully injured, but managed to crawl off some- 
where and has not been heard of since.” 

“How is Appolina:” Marjorie asked sympatheti- 
cally. 

“She is quite calm now, and has decided to go 
abroad. Her husband, George Blair, has been no- 
ble.” In speaking of Appolina, for the first time 
Mrs. Clay raised her eyes from the floor. “He 
says that it is on account of Mr. Clay and myself, 
but I really believes he loves my child. Appolina 
wished me to repeat every word she uttered and to 
ask your pardon. It seems that Decimus,” Mrs. 
Clay hesitated a little, “has been the one love of 
her life, but they were double cousins, and besides, 
he had no eyes for anyone but you. My poor girl 
was from childhood madly jealous and the indiffer- 
ence of Decimus she declares made her wreckless. 
She frankly says that she married George Blair for 
his money. Baron d’Holbret was a welcome diver- 


178 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


sion. Then you came, all the old jealous feelings 
were awakened. She declares that she is going to 
give up cards, go to mass — you know George Blair 
is a Catholic — and become now a reformed char- 
acter. Of course, I try to encourage her, but one 
thing she said hurt me. She declares that she will 
find a strict convent in which to educate Katharyn. 
My indulgent old-fashioned training, she insists, 
will never fit the child for what she will have to 
meet in these modern times. Ultra strictness or 
entire indifference to convention are the two alter- 
natives now-a-days. I fear, my dear Marjorie, that 
the day of the 'old-fashioned lady' is gone forever." 

"The world will always love the 'old-fashioned 
lady,' Marjorie cried, impulsively kissing Mrs. 
Clay's cheek, upon which there was now a delicate 
blush. "Whatever may be the trend of the times, 
its frank materialism, the enfranchisement of its 
women, the old-fashioned lady will always bring 
back to our minds vivid impressions of the social 
life of which she was once a center. When the 
'new woman' is rightly understood, however, it will 
be seen that her ideals are not inconsistent with 
the attributes assigned now only to the old-fash- 
ioned lady." Marjorie glanced toward the garden. 
"We shall always love the spicy pinks and laven- 
der, but that rose I see is the same sweet rose of 
the olden time, only with intelligent culture she 
has developed new leaves, a richer coloring, until 
having attained perfection, we now see a glorious 
rose!’' 

"Now tell me something of dear Mr. Clay?" Mar- 
jorie asked, changing the subject. 

Mrs. Clay looked up, trying to smile. "He has 
not spoken but once. You know how patient he is ! 
As I was lowering him down on the couch this 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


179 


morning, he pointed to the history of the Ameri- 
can people he had laid down. ‘Like out wittiest 
President, I talk better when I lie,’ he said, and 
smiled up at me. After he dozed off, I looked but 
had no time or eyes, my dear, to read it. I think 
these were the last words of one of the Adams.” 

Mrs. Clay had risen to leave, and as usual, Mar- 
jorie walked out with her. Only now they did not 
take the short path through the hedge — that was 
still too replete with tragic memory — but walked 
the long way to the front gate. Here, after Mrs. 
Clay had gone off a short distance, Marjorie called 
to her. “Oh, Mrs. Clay, do you know about dear 
Miss Araminta, and little Dr. Pell?” 

“Indeed I do, she told me to-day,” Mrs. Clay 
replied, with something of the old brightness in 
her face, for like most good, kind women, she liked 
a romance, “they are soon to be married, I am so 
glad !” 

“You would never believe how romantic Dr. Pell 
could look,” Marjorie declared with a smile, “unless 
you had seen him kissing Miss Araminta’s hand !” 

“Do you know,” said Mrs. Clay, becoming quite 
interested, “I always thought Lawyer Jasper had 
aspirations in that quarter.” 

“In that case.” said Marjorie brightly, “you must 
acknowledge that the “old-fashioned lady” is com- 
pletely vindicated. Miss Araminta could never be 
described in any other way.” 

This little jest served its purpose, for Mrs. Clay 
smiled through her tears, as she bade Marjorie 
good-bye. 

As Marjorie returned alone she stopped to enjoy 
the beauty of the day. In all her sorrows, what a 
balm in Gilead nature had been to her! 

The shadows of her life were quickly turning 


180 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


into sunshine. She could look forward now to 
Rand’s joyous home-coming, after their first real 
separation, and with what different feelings they 
would wander through the garden and the woods. 

There was another thought, sweet and sacred, 
for now Marjorie knew her own heart. After all, 
is not the human heart like any other citadel? “It 
capitulates when the enemy has discovered its 
weakest point.” Marjorie smiled, as she recalled 
Decimus’ words. 

Well she knew, and at the thought the lovely 
color deepened in her face, that it was Decimus 
she needed, had needed all her life. This big, simple 
nature was the complement of her own. And why? 
Because, like herself, he had lived near to nature, 
to the “good brown earth,” that is the truest heri- 
tage of us all. 

The winter was over, and the garden at the 
“Shelter” had thrown off its covering of somber 
brown ; everywhere now above the moist earth 
could be seen delicate green bulbs and the pale 
flowers of early spring. 

Decimus and Marjorie stood before a tall rose 
bush watching an anxious little mother bird build 
her nest, while her mate caroled to her near by. 

“Two birds and one nest, that is the story,” 
quoted Decimus happily as they turned away. 

“Do you know,” said Marjorie, after a short 
pause in which they walked slowly down the gar- 
den walk, “that I often feel that Mr. Bonnycastle 
is near me. Separated by but a faint barrier I 
think qf him still as Master of an Inner Court of 
spiritual forces, that he set in motion, and that 
have brought about happy issues in the lives of 
those he loved.” 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


181 


“We will make 'Robin's Roost' a memorial to 
him," Decimus' practical mind at once suggested, 
“a home where young boys can be trained for 
scientific pursuits. That would have pleased him." 

“And a memorial window with his noble and in- 
tellectual face encircled with glowing colors, and 
the motto of his life," Marjorie replied with kind- 
ling eyes, and then paused, for Decimus had leaned 
over and now rose to his feet, holding out to her a 
tiny clover leaf. 

“The first one I ever found!" Decimus' hand 
closed over Marjorie's and he gently drew her 
down to a seat by his side. 

“One leaf is for love. The love for which you 
kept me waiting so long, Marjorie. But that is 
nearly over now. If you could know what it means 
to me to feel that you are really to be mine! In 
all the waiting I hardly dared to hope. All I knew 
was that there could be but one marriage for me, 
but one home, and that in it must be the one love 
of my life. Sometimes it seems too good to be 

true. Are you sure " Decimus' hand closed 

more closely over Marjorie's, his clear eyes scanned 
her face, “that the love you have given me is no 
longer that which you would give a brother — that 
it is not," he hesitated, “because of Rand?" 

Marjorie did not reply at once. She looked over 
to the turrets of “Robin's Roost" and the white 
pillars of the Clays' home and then her eyes rested 
upon the garden at the “Shelter," and Rand's 
straight young figure flitting in and out in some 
game among the trees on the lawn. The old fa- 
miliar landscape that she loved so well ! Grad- 
ually Marjorie's eyes came back to Decimus, and 
her face dimpled with happy laughter. 

“You dear, big, stupid boy!" she said slowly. 


182 


A MASTER OF THE INNER COURT 


'‘Must I tell you? This is gratitude/' Raising the 
hand that had saved Rand’s life she touched it to 
her lips. 

“But this — Decimus ! Sweetheart! Don’t you 
know, can’t you feel, that this,” her lips drew near 
to his, ‘‘is love?” 


THE END 


4 


4 



















' i 

s 


h 






.'/t'v'' 

i 


<’ , j 


♦ V 


/• 


I 




9 


I 




I 


I 





f 


r 

\ 

I 


A 

r''. 

< 


i‘i' 

I 

I 




